m^^i^^fi^ 







^" 



THE FRIENDLY CRAFT 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



THE 



FRIENDLY CRAFT 



A COLLECTION OF AMERICAN LETTERS 



EDITED BY 

ELIZABETH DEERING HANSCOM, Ph.D. 

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN SMITH COLLEGE 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1908 

All rights reserved 



Two Copies Recsived 

CLASS Ow JWC. NJ, 

COPY A.« 

"^1 "-Trrn r i T m i p u ii um i 



T5a/ 



Copyright, 1908, 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1908. 



J. S. Gushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



L. D. H. 

AND THE MEMORY OF 

G. A. H. 

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK 

ON THE GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY 

OF THEIR MARRIAGE 



PREFACE 

This collection represents the gleanings of several years 
in some of the pleasant by-paths of American literature. 
Personal considerations have so frequently determined the 
selection that no defence can be offered against criticism. 
The reflection of a bit of bygone life, an odd or whimsical 
view of a situation, a swift and unconscious revelation of 
character, often merely the happy or individual turn of a 
phrase, — these and causes as slight have governed choice ; 
while for no graver reasons other far weightier and perhaps 
worthier material has been rejected. Yet personal choice 
alone did not control; many letters that I wished to 
include are not here because of the impossibility of secur- 
ing the copyright privilege. 

To many librarians in many places I am grateful for 
patient and cheerful attention, and I am glad of this oppor- 
tunity to express my appreciation of services without which 
the student's task would indeed be overwhelming. In 
particular, I would record the indebtedness of many years 
to the librarians of the Smith College Library and of the 
Forbes Library of Northampton, Mass. 

One more debt — and that the largest — must be ac- 
knowledged. From the first suggestion of this collection 
until the reading of the last page of proof, I have been 
aided constantly by my mother; and had my wish pre- 
vailed, her name would have stood on the title-page. 

To the editors and publishers who have courteously 
granted the use of material from their publications, I offer 
my sincere thanks. It is a pleasure to express my grati- 

vii 



Preface 

tude to Mr. John Bigelow for the letters of Benjamin and 
Deborah Franklin ; to Dr. Charles S. Minot for the letters 
of Catharine M. Sedgwick; to Mr. W. de Loss Love for 
the letters of David Fowler from the ^' Life of Samson 
Occam"; to Mr. Frank Sanborn for the letter of Henry- 
James, Sr., from "A. Bronson Alcott : His Life and 
Philosophy '' ; and to the Princeton Historical Association 
and Princeton^ University Library for the letters of Philip 
Fithian. 

The letters of President Lincoln are reprinted by per- 
mission from the " Complete Works of Abraham Lincoln," 
edited by John G. Nicolay and John Hay, pubhshed by 
The Century Co. of New York. Messrs. Dodd, Mead 
& Co. of New York have allowed the use of letters from 
"The Life of Bret Harte" by T. Edgar Pemberton. To 
The Funk & Wagnalls Co. of New York, I am indebted 
for the letters of Mr. and Mrs. Blaine from the " Biog- 
raphy of James G. Blaine " by Gail Hamilton, 

Permission was granted by the publishers to use letters 
of General Lee from " Recollections and Letters of General 
Robert E. Lee," published and copyrighted by Messrs. 
Doubleday, Page & Co. of New York in 1904; and by the 
courtesy of the same firm and of Miss Keller, the letter 
of Phillips Brooks is reprinted from Helen Keller's " The 
Story of my Life," pubhshed by Messrs. Doubleday, Page 
& Co. and copyrighted by Miss Keller in 1902. 

The Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Co, of Boston have 
kindly accorded the use of letters from Abram English 
Brown's "John Hancock, His Book " and from Catherine H. 
Birney's "The Grimke Sisters." 

The letters of Sallie Holley are reprinted, by permission 
of the editor and publishers, from "A Life for Liberty" 
by John White Chadwick, published by Messrs. G. P. 
Putnam's Sons of New York and London; and to the 

viii 



Preface 

same publishers I owe the letters of Mrs. Gibbons from 
the " Life of Abby Hopper Gibbons " by Sarah Hopper 
Emerson, and those of William Hamilton Gibson from 
John Coleman Andrews' " William Hamilton Gibson." 

To Mr. Hamlin Garland and The McClure Co. of New 
York, I am indebted for a letter of Ulysses Grant from 
" The Life of Ulysses S. Grant," copyright, 1898, by Hamlin 
Garland, published by The McClure Co. To the same 
publishers and to the editor I owe the letters of Daniel 
and Edward Webster from " The Letters of Daniel Web- 
ster," edited by C. H. van Tyne, copyright, 1902, by 
McClure, Phillips & Co. Mrs. Annie Fields kindly joined 
with The McClure Co. in allowing me to take some of 
Mr. Warner's letters from her volume entitled " Charles 
Dudley Warner," copyright, 1904, by McClure, Phillips 
&Co. 

Messrs. Little, Brown & Co. of Boston have granted the 
use of material from " Louisa May Alcott : Her Life, Let- 
ters, and Journals," edited by Ednah D. Cheney; from 
the " Life and Letters of John Winthrop " by Robert C. 
Winthrop ; from the "Memoir of Charles Sumner" by 
Edward L. Peirce ; also the letter of Dr. Samuel Gridley 
Howe from " Laura Bridgman " by Maud Howe and Flor- 
ence Howe Hall ; and the letter on page 94 from Charles 
Haight Farnham's "A Life of Francis Parkman." 

The letters of Edwin Lawrence Godkin and the letters 
of James Russell Lowell on pages 79, 127, 155 are reprinted, 
by permission of the editor and publishers, from the " Life 
and Letters of Edwin Lawrence Godkin," edited by Rollo 
Ogden and published by The Macmillan Co. of New York. 
The same publishers and Mrs. Pryor have granted the 
use of two letters signed " Agnes " from Mrs. Roger A. 
Pryor's " Reminiscences of Peace and War." The letter 
of Thomas Bailey Aldrich on page 346 is taken, by per- 

ix 



Preface 

mission, from the ^^Life and Art of Edwin Booth'"' by 
William Winter, published by The Macmillan Co. 

To Messrs. Charles Scribner'-s Sons of New York I am 
under great obligation for the use o"^ material from the 
following publications of which they hold the copyright : 
"Eliza [Lucas] Pinckney" (copyright, 1896); "The Life 
and Letters of George Bancroft " (copyright, 1908) ; " The 
Life of Charles Loring Brace" (copyright, 1897); "The 
Diary and Letters of Gouverneur Morris " (copyright, 
1888) ; the letters of EHza Southgate are from "A Girl's 
Life Eighty Years Ago" (copyright, 1887) ; those of Mrs. 
Samuel Harrison Smith are from "The First Forty Years 
of Washington Society" (copyright, 1906); those of 
James and Mercy Warren are from "Mercy Warren" 
(copyright, 1896). The letters of Sidney Lanier are from 
" The Letters of Sidney Lanier " (published by Charles 
Scribner's Sons ; copyright, 1899, by Mary Day Lanier). 

The extracts from Laura Bridgman, Caroline C. Briggs, 
Lydia Maria Child, James Freeman Clarke, Ralph Waldo 
Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne and Mrs. Hawthorne, 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Lucy Larcom, Charles Godfrey 
Leland, Henry W. Longfellow and Mrs. Longfellow, Dolly 
Madison, Bayard Taylor, Celia Thaxter, George Ticknor, 
Henry D. Thoreau, William Wetmore Story, Harriet 
Beecher Stowe, John Greenleaf Whittier, and Thomas 
Bailey Aldrich (except the letter on page 346) are used by 
permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton 
Mifflin Co., the authorized publishers of their works. 

The letters of Stephen Longfellow, Nathaniel Parker 
Willis, and Jared Sparks, and that of Thomas Gold Apple- 
ton on page 170 are from the "Life of Henry Wadsworth 
Longfellow," by Samuel Longfellow ; the letters of James 
Russell Lowell on pages 30, 124, 149 are from "William 
Wetmore Story and his Friends" by Henry James; the 



Preface 

letters of Margaret Fuller on pages 194, 196 are from Frank 
Sanborn^s " Henry D. Thoreau '' ; the one on page 67 is from 
Thomas Wentworth Higginson's " Margaret Fuller Ossoli" ; 
the letter of Francis Parkman on page 226 is from Henry 
Dwight Sedgwick's " Francis Parkman " ; that of George 
William Curtis on page 300 is from Edward Gary's " George 
William. Curtis " ; and all these letters are used by per- 
mission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton 
Mifflin Co., the authorized publishers of these works. In 
addition to this acknowledgment to the publishers, I wish 
to add my especial thanks to Colonel T. W. Higginson, 
to Mrs. Elizabeth Robins Pennell, to Mr. Ferris Greens- 
let, and to the members of the Emerson family for the 
courtesy with which they have met my requests for material. 



XI 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I. THE RULES OF THE CRAFT. . . . i 
II. A MOOT POINT OF CRAFTSMANSHIP . . 2 



III. THE NEWS FROM HOME 

Judge Sewall survives the earthquake ... 2 

The busy days of a colonial girl .... 3 
Benjamin Franklin feels better and is glad to be 

AT HOME 6 

George Washington offers his negro Tom for sale 7 

John Hancock can live no longer without Dolly 8 
George Washington recounts his diurnal pursuits 

TO James McHenry 10 

John Adams bids his wife come 11 

President Adams invokes a blessing on the White 

House 12 

But Mrs. Adams finds the house inconvenient . 13 

Sarah Grimke describes a quaint wedding . . 14 

Showing that the couple lived happily ever after 16 

The "delectable way of life" at Brook Farm . 18 

Mr. Hawthorne gets breakfast 19 

Mrs. Hawthorne tells her mother that the baby 

sleeps and smiles 21 

In SPITE OF THE HEAT, GeORGE WiLLIAM CuRTIS SUC- 
ceeds in writing poeiry 21 

George William Curtis turns farmer ... 24 

xiii 



Contents 

PAGE 

Mr. Thoreau sends Concord news to Mr. Emerson 

IN England 26 

James Russell Lowell considers Cambridge doings 

QUITE AS interesting AS THOSE OF ItALY . . 30 

Three letters from Louisa Alcott about the real 

Little Women 32 

Mrs. Stowe suggests tombstones for two . . 40 

Two LETTERS SHOWING HOW MrS. StOW^E KEPT HOUSE 

and wrote books . . " . . . . • 4i 

Prairie life in the 'Forties 51 

The happy home of an old bachelor ... 54 
Thomas Bailey Aldrich writes from a "dim spot 

OF earth called Boston" 55 

The beauty that ever is on land and sea . . 58 

IV. LITTLE MEN AND LITTLE WOMEN 

The heart of a boy 62 

Thomas Gold Appleton is " pretty well worn out " 

at school ........ 65 

But RECOVERS after hearing "two very affecting 

SERMONS " 66 

A FIRESIDE picture 67 

Margaret Fuller Ossoli and her baby keep Christ- 
mas in Florence .67 

Thomas Jefferson counsels his daughter Martha 

(aged eleven) 69 

Aaron Burr has views on women's education . 71 
And puts them into practice on Theodosia . . 73 
The puzzling questions of curriculum in a Select 

Female Seminary 75 

RuFUs Choate misses his boy 76 

xiv 



Contents 



PAGE 



Mrs. Gibbons sends love, advice, and money to her 

SON 77 

The unprejudiced opinions of a grandmother . 78 

The advantages of being a grandfather ... 79 

Dr. Channing has doubts about child study . . 79 

Such as sit in darkness 80 

V. STUDENTS' TALES 

Increase Mather considers Harvard College too 

small a field for labor 86 

The rules and routine of Nassau Hall ... 89 

Philip Fithian discloses the " Shameful, mean, un- 
manly Conduct" of sundry students . . 92 

William H. Prescott eats pears and appears very 

well while being examined .... 93 

The strenuous life of a Harvard law student 

EXTOLLED BY FrANCIS PARKMAN . . . . 94 

Ulysses Grant likes West Point in spite of draw- 
backs 96 

gottingen as seen by the first american students 99 
How Theodore Parker obtained his education . 103 
Three letters on a common subject .... 104 
Lyman Beecher is disturbed about his son Ed- 
ward's condition 107 

VI. LOVERS AND FRIENDS 

"The tender grace of a day that is dead" . . 108 

A Puritan posey no 

Judge Sewall offers himself to Madam Gibbs . 112 
But does not propose to pay her debts . . .112 

The Judge and Madam Gibbs are finally published 113 

XV 



Contents 



George Washington salutes Martha Custis . 
John Hancock sends a letter of remonstrance and 

a box of presents to dorothy quincy 
John Adams greets his wife, and desires her pres 

ence here and hereafter .... 
"The shadow and the light" . . . 
Charles Loring Brace thinks of his wife 
As does also William H. Prescott . 
" Music is Love in search of a word " 
An itinerant courtship decorously pursued . 
In spite of ignorance, Mr. Longfellow admires Mr 

Sumner's speech 

"No time like the old time" .... 

" No friends like our old friends " . 

William Wetmore Story recalls the days lang 

syne ' . . . 



James Russell Lowell obeys his impulse and writes 
TO Mr. Godkin 

"A BENEDICTION ON THE BeNEDICTINES " 

The UNFINISHED SUM . . . 

"Forging over the reef" 

Dr. Holmes feels "young again at four score" 



PAGE 
114 

116 
118 
118 
119 
119 

122 
123 
124 

125 

127 
128 
128 
129 
130 



VII. GENIAL GOSSIP 

Mrs. Pinckney of South Carolina and the mother 

OF George III discuss domestic affairs . . 131 

The storm does not keep Eliza Southgate from 

the Assembly . . 134 

While waiting for breakfast, Aaron Burr writes 

to his daughter 138 

And in spite of her dilatoriness continues to write 139 

Washington Irving tries to save the country . 140 

xvi 



Contents 

PAGE 

Although uninvited and badly shaven, Washing- 
ton Irving attends Mrs. Madison's levee . 142 
Mrs. Samuel Harrison Smith gives "a small, gen- 
teel dinner" for Miss Martineau . . . 145 

Washington Irving denies both 148 

Jamks Russell Lowell prepares to buy a doll . 149 

"The broken circle" .150 

Henry D. Thoreau on " that glorious society 

called Solitude" 150 

Henry James, Sr., regards the Saturday Club with 

imperfect seriousness 152 

James Russell Lowell speaks French too politely 155 

"The changed perspective" 156 

Mrs. Briggs listens to Phillips Brooks . . .156 
Mrs. Longfellow prefers Henry's friends to titled 

folk . . , 158 

Ralph Waldo Emerson commends Margaret Fuller 

TO Thomas and Jane Carlyle . . . .158 
Mlss Fuller goes accordingly and communicates 

THE result 160 

After fourteen years Emerson and Carlyle are 

"shovelled together again" . . . .162 
Charles Sumner sees the Queen open Parliament, 

AND finds MaCAULAY OPPRESSIVE . . . . 164 

Washington Irving visits Mr. Scott at Abbots- 
ford 166 

Later he meets Sir Walter in London . . .168 
The Storys care for no society but that of the 

Brownings 169 

Pictures, the Brownings, and supper at Evans's . 170 
John Lothrop Motley feels "like a donkey" when 

complimented by a great lady . . . .172 

xvii 



Contents 

PAGE 

Bayard Taylor hears Tennyson read "The Idylls 
OF THE King," and likes Matthew Arnold at 

FIRST SIGHT 1 73 

Margaret Fuller suffers mauvaise honte before 

VISITING George Sand 177 

George Bancroft holds familiar intercourse with 

General- Moltke 1 79 

John Lothrop Motley visits Prince Bismarck . 182 

VIII. THE JUDGMENT OF PEERS 

Henry W. Longfellow, with the enthusiasm of 
seventeen, discloses his literary ambition to 

HIS father 184 

Mr. Longfellow, Sr., replies cautiously, inciden- 
tally POINTING OUT A FALSE RHYTHM . . . l86 

Washington Irving also discourages literary am- 
bition 187 

Mr. Lowell advises Mr. Howells . . . .188 
Ralph Waldo Emerson expresses to Thomas Carlyle 

his approbation of "Sartor Resartus" . . 189 
Mr. Willis insists on remaining out of Boston, 

but will do all that he can for his 

FRIENDS 192 

Margaret Fuller urges Henry Thoreau to renewed 

EFFORT 194 

Once more Miss Fuller rejects Mr. Thoreau's 

manuscript 196 

William Wetmore Story praises the "Fable for 

Critics," but defends Margaret Fuller . .196 

Mr. and Mrs. Longfellow read Dr. Holmes's new 

VOLUME 198 

xviii 



Contents 

PAGE 

Catharine Sedgwick has grave doubts about *'The 

House of the Seven Gables" . . . .199 
RuFus Choate rises from bed to extol Burke . 200 
John G. Whittier feels uncomfortable while 

reading Browning 201 

William Wetmore Story writes to Charles Eliot 

Norton after Mrs. Browning's death . . 201 
Thomas Bailey Aldrich condemns the publication 

of the Browning letters . . . . : 202 
James Russell Lowell is not squeamish, but — . 204 
Charles Dudley Warner on literature and life . 204 
Thomas Bailey Aldrich considers Whitman's verse 

curious but ineffective 207 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich discusses his own and 

others' poems 209 

Of the curative properties of poetry, and of the 

kind that should be taken homeopathically . 2io 
Charles Godfrey Leland deplores the change in 

American Humor 211 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich on letter writers . .212 
D'e gustibus non disputandum . . . . . .213 



IX. THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 

Governor Winthrop bids his wife prepare for an 

OCEAN VOYAGE 2l6 

Abigail Adams suffers the indelicacy of sea-sick- 

NESS 219 

Gouverneur Morris journeys to the "far west," 
sees Niagara, and prophesies the future of the 
country 221 

Dr. Holmes rails against taverns .... 222 

xix 



Contents 



PAGE 

Henry D. Thoreau carries Concord ground and 

THOUGHTS TO StATEN IsLAND .... . 224 

Francis Parkman objects to Western manners . 226 
The varied experiences of an Abolitionist lecturer 227 
Henry D. Thoreau glories in the stormy hospital- 
ity OF MONADNOCK 229 

Theodore Parker, fresh from Boston, finds Santa 

Cruz slow 233 

Charles Sumner rides with the fox-hunting gentry 

and clergy of merrie england .... 236 

William H. Prescott tells his wife all about 

THE Queen 241 

William H. Prescott wears red robes at Oxford . 245 

Bret Harte feels like a defunct English lord . 247 

" He killed the hare " 249 

For certain purposes Edwin Lawrence God kin pre- 
fers England to America 250 

Abigail Adams disapproves of Paris and Parisiennes, 

in short, prefers Boston 250 

Celia Thaxter loses her heart and exhausts her 

adjectives in milan 252 

Washington Irving visits a German ** Brace- 
bridge Hall " 254 

Being an account of the way in which Charles 

Godfrey Leland "took Europe like a pie" . 255 

Why travel ? 256 

X. MAKERS OF HISTORY 

John Winthrop is elected governor of the Massa- 
chusetts Company 257 

Governor Bradford explains to Mr. Weston the 

delay in sending back the " Mayflower " . 258 

XX 



Contents 

PAGE 

Samuel Sewall protests against the acting of 

PLAYS 260 

James Warren relies on Providence and the peo- 
ple . . / 261 

The NEWS from Bunker Hill 263 

Mrs. Washington and Mrs. Warren take a morn- 
ing drive 266 

Abigail Adams counsels separation .... 268 
Eight months later the colonies take action . 268 
In the dark days of '77 John Adams loses his 

TEMPER 269 

And THE Tories are assured that the end is 

NEAR . 270 

The first President moves reluctantly to the 

CHAIR OF government 272 

At the close of the Revolution Benjamin Frank- 
lin ADVOCATES ARBITRATION 273 

Benjamin Franklin prefers the turkey to the 

eagle as the emblem of the country . . 273 
Three letters to his daughter from Aaron Burr 

in prison 274 

Mrs. Madison saves the portrait of Washington . 275 
Mrs. Jackson v^itnesses the occupation of Pensa- 
cola, and laments the godlessness of the 

Spanish 277 

She FINDS Washington not much more pious . . 281 
Mrs. Samuel Harrison Smith describes Andrev^ 
Jackson's inauguration, with varying opinions 

AS TO the majesty OF THE PEOPLE . . . 283 

Thumb-nail sketches of the Abolitionists . . 287 
Colonel Lee resigns from the United States 

Army 288 

xxi 



Contents 

PAGE 

Horace Greeley loses his nerve and writes to the 

President ........ 290 

The paramount object — to save the Union . . 292 
a bread riot in the capital of the confederacy . 293 
President Lincoln acknowledges his error to 

General Grant 296 

The evacuation of Richmond as a woman saw 

it 296 

" My Captain lies, fallen cold and dead " . . 300 
In peace General Lee loses the burden of old 

SORROWS 301 

" how swift the sudden flash of woe " . . . 302 
Charles Godfrey Leland on the jolly days of the 

Revolution of '48 „ . 303 

Washington Irving recalls Louis Napoleon and 

Eugenie Montijo . . .' . . . . 305 
Seventeen years later his fears are realized . . 306 
George Bancroft on the reconstruction of Ger- 
many 309 

Edwin Lawrence Godkin on Imperialism and Kip- 
ling . 310 



XI. "I WILL NAME YOU THE DEGREES'' 

"The Retort Courteous" 311 

*'The Quip Modest" 311 

"The Reply Churlish" 312 

"The Reproof Valiant" 313 

"The Countercheck Quarrelsome" . . . .313 

"The Lie Circumstantial" 314 

"The Lie Direct" 314 

xxii 



Contents 

XII. "QUIPS AND CRANKS" 

PAGE 

Three whimsical views of the future estate . 316 
David Fowler, an Indian convert, recounts his 

need of a Rib 317 

RuFUs Choate is guilty of contempt of court . 320 

Lyman Beecher sends a telegram .... 320 

A modest request 321 

• XIII. COURTESIES OF THE CRAFT 

General Washington waxes facetious over a dinner 

invitation 322 

Aaron Burr regrets . . . . . . . 323 

Dr. Holmes accepts 323 

A DINNER NOTE FROM DANIEL WeBSTER . . . 324 

XIV. THE FINE ART OF LIVING 

" These few precepts " 325 

Benjamin Franklin shuffles the cards and begins 

another game . . . ... . . . 325 

The futility of mere feeling 326 

Henry D. Thoreau advocates Work — Work — Work 328 
Erreur bien douloureuse . , . . . . -33^ 

"The hour of peaceful rest" 332 

An antidote for age 2;^;^ 

" In the half way house " 333 

The dominant will 334 

XV. "THE CLOUD ON THE WAY" 

** After the curfew " 336 

Ralph Waldo Emerson brings his mother home . 338 

xxiii 



Contents 

PAGE 

The philosophy of compensation avails not to 
comfort one who mourns his son dead in his 

BEAUTY 340 

"Immortal away from me" 341 

*' The same old baffling questions " . . . . 343 

The unendurable pain ...... 346 

**GooD night, sweet prince" 346 

Lest we grieve the dead 347 

Ralph Waldo Emerson exhorts Thomas Carlyle 

TO BE strong and ENDURE 348 

XVI. THE UNCONQUERABLE HOPE 

Judging from the past, Benjamin Franklin antici- 
pates THE FUTURE WITH RATIONAL ASSURANCE . 35O 

Ralph Waldo Emerson expounds. his creed . .351 
James Freeman Clarke compresses his into four 

WORDS 352 

The PASSIONATE PROTEST 354 

The privilege of covenanting with God . . . 354 

"Within the gate" 356 

A Christmas letter 359 

The "sole ground of hope" 360 



XXIV 



THE FRIENDLY CRAFT 



THE FRIENDLY CRAFT 



W 



THE RULES OF THE CRAFT 

RITE Lengthy and often. 



John Hancock 



■\T 7RITE by every boat. . . . Tell the news — the 
^^ ^^^'"- RUFUS Choate 

O acknowledge the receipt of letters is always proper, 
to remove doubts of their miscarriage. 

George Washington 



T 



LETTERS should be affectionate, natural, and graceful 
— almost everybody can get as far as that — then 
make them as witty, or sensible, or in any way agreeable as 

^'^^ ^^^* Catharine M. Sedgwick 

NEVER write for the sake of covering paper. " If you 
have nothing to say, say nothing^ This was the 
advice of my dearly beloved mother, and I hand it down 

^^^* Abby Hopper Gibbons 

B I 



The Friendly Craft 

II 

A MOOT POINT OF CRAFTSMANSHIP 

I WONDER if Eve could write letters in Paradise ! 
But, poor Eve, she had no one to write to — no one 
to whom to tell what Eden was, no beloved child to whom 
her love traveled through any or all space. Poor Eve ! 

Catharine M. Sedgwick 

I SOMETIMES think one of the great blessings we 
shall enjoy in heaven, will be to receive letters by 
every post and never be obliged to reply to them. 

Washington Irving 

III 

THE NEWS FROM HOME 

Judge Sewall survives the earthquake --Oix <::y ^«C!y 

(" To the Rev.^ President, Mr. Benjamin Wadsworth 

at Cambridge ") 

NoV". 14, 1727 

REVP SIR, — I am glad to hear that you have been 
so far Recovered from your long and painfull 
Indisposition, as to have been able to go into the Hall 
again. And I congratulat with you our having survived 
the late terrible Earthquake. I cannot afBrm that I was 
shaken by it, although our Kitchen parrallel to our Bed- 
chamber, and near it, was Rocquid like a Cradle, yet the 
crashing Noise was very amazing to me. For I was just 
warm in my Bed, but not asleep. The young people were 

2 



Busy Days 

quickly frighted out of the Shaking clattering Kitchen, 
and fled with weeping Cryes into our Chamber, where 
they made a fire, and abode there till morning. As I lay, 
the good Bp and his Lady came to my mind, who were 
buried in their Bed in the desolating Tempest in England ; 
but I did not venture to tell my thoughts. I remember 
the Earthquake of i66f and my being Shaken by it, as I 
sat in my Father^s house at Newbury in a Jam of the 
Chimney. Oh that I could learn to fear the Lord and his 
Goodness ! . . . 

The busy days of a colonial girl ^:> ^:::> ^'O 
(Two letters from Eliza Lucas) 

I 

DEAR MADAM, — I flatter myself it will be a satisfac- 
tion to you to hear I like this part of the world as 
my lott has fallen here, which I really do. I prefer Eng- 
land to it 'tis true, but think Carolina greatly preferable to 
the West Indies, and was my Papa here I should be very 
happy. We have a very good acquaintance from whom 
we have received much friendship and Civility. Charles 
Town the principal one in this province is a poHte 
agreeable place, the people live very Gentile and very 
much in the English taste. The Country is in general 
fertile and abounds with Venson and with fowl. The 
Venson is much higher flavoured than in England but 
'tis seldom fatt. 

My Papa and Mama's great indulgence to mee leaves it 
to mee to chuse our place of residence either in town or 
country, but I think it more prudent as well as most 
agreeable to my Mama and selfe to be in the Country 
during my father's absence. Wee are 17 mile by land, 

3 



The Friendly Craft 



and 6 by water from Charles Town where wee have about 
6 agreeable families around us with whom wee live in 
great harmony. I have a little library well furnished (for 
my Papa has left mee most of his books) in w^.^} I spend 
part of my time. My Musick and the Garden w^.^ I am 
very fond of take up the rest that is not imployed in busi- 
ness, of w*:^ my father has left mee a pretty good share, 
and indeed Hwas unavoidable, as my Mama's bad state of 
health prevents her going thro' any fatigue. 

I have the business of 3 plantations to transact, w^.^? 
requires much writing and more business and fatigue of 
other sorts than you can imagine, but least you should 
imagine it too burthensome to a girl at my early time of 
life, give mee leave to assure you I think myself happy 
that I can be useful to so good a father. By rising very 
early I find I can go through with much business, but 
least you should think I Shall be quite moaped with this 
way of life, I am to inform you there is two worthy ladies 
in Cy? Town, Mrs Pinckney and Mrs Cleland who are par- 
tial enough to mee to wish to have mee with them, and 
insist upon my making their houses my home when in 
Town, and press mee to relax a little much oftener than 'tis 
in my power to accept of their obliging intreaties, but I am 
sometimes with one or the other for three weeks or a 
monthe at a time, and then enjoy all the pleasures Cr? Town 
affords. But nothing gives mee more than subscribing 
myself 

DF. Madam 

Y?*. most affectionet and 
Pray remember me in most obliged hum¥.^ SerT* 

the best manner to my Eliza. Lucas 

worthy friend M5. Boddicott. 
To my good friend Mrs Boddicott 

May ye 2^V.^. [probably 1740] 
4 



Trifling Away Time 



II 

WHY my dear Miss Bartlett, will you so often repeat 
yl desire to know how I trifle away my time in our 
retirement in my father's absence : could it afford you 
advantage or pleasure I would not have hesitated, but as 
you can expect neither from it I would have been excused ; 
however, to show you my readiness in obeying yi com- 
mands, here it is. 

In geni then I rise at five o'Clock in the morning, read 
till seven — then take a walk in the garden or fields, see 
that the Servants are at their respective business, then 
to breakfast. The first hour after breakfast is spent in 
musick, the next is constantly employed in recolecting 
something I have learned, least for want of practice it 
should be quite lost, such as french and short hand. 
After that, I devote the rest of the time till I dress for 
dinner, to our little polly, and two black girls who I teach 
to read, and if I have my papa's approbation (my mama's 
I have got) I intend for school mistress's for the rest of 
the Negroe children. Another scheme you see, but to 
proceed, the first hour after dinner, as the first after 
breakfast, at musick, the rest of the afternoon in needle 
work till candle light, and from that time to bed time read 
or write ; 'tis the fashion here to carry our work abroad 
with us so that having company, without they are great 
strangers, is no interruption to y£ affair, but I have particu- 
lar matters for particular days w^^^ is an interruption to 
mine. Mondays my musick Master is here. Tuesday my 
friend ML^ Chardon (about 3 miles distant) and I are con- 
stantly engaged to each other, she at our house one Tues- 
day I at hers the next, and this is one of y?. happiest days 
I spend at Wappoo. Thursday the whole day except what 
the necessary affairs of the family take up, is spent in 

5 



The Friendly Craft 



writing, either on the business of the plantations or on 
letters to my friends. Every other Friday, if no company, 
we go a vizeting, so that I go abroad once a week and no 
oftener. 

Now you may form some judgment of what time I can 
have to work my lappets. I own I never go to them with 
a quite easy conscience as I know my father has an aver- 
tion to my employing my time in that poreing work, but 
they are begun, and must be finished. I hate to undertake 
anything and not go thro' with it, but by way of relaxation 
from the other, I have begun a piece of work of a quicker 
sort, w£^ requires neither eyes nor genius, at least not very 
good ones, would you ever guess it to be a shrimp nett ? 
for so it is. 

O ! I had like to forgot the last thing I have done a 
great while. I have planted a large figg orchard, with 
design to dry them, and export them. I have reckoned 
my expence and the prophets to arise from those figgs, 
but was I to tell you how great an Estate I am to make 
this way, and how 'tis to be laid out, you would think me 
far gone in romance. Y^ good Uncle I know has long 
thought I have a fertile brain at scheming, I only confirm 
him in his oppinion ; but I own I love the vegitable world 
extreamely. I think it an innocent and useful amusement, 
and pray tell him if he laughs much at my projects, I never 
intend to have any hand in a silver mine, and he will 
understand as well as you, what I mean ! Our best 
respects wait on him, and M^i Pinckney . . . 

Benjamin Franklin feels better and is glad to be at home. 
(To his sister, Mrs. Mecom, from Philadelphia, 

November^ 1764) 
FIND myself at present quite clear from pain, 
and so have at length left off the cold bath, 
6 



I 



A Rogue and a Runaway 

There is, however, still some weakness in my shoulder, 
though much stronger than when I left Boston, and 
mending. I am otherwise very happy in being at home, 
where I am allowed to know when I have eat enough 
and drunk enough, am warm enough, and sit in a place 
that I like, &c., and nobody pretends to know what I 
feel better than I do myself. . . . 

George Washington offers his negro Tom for sale <^ 
(To Capt. Joh. Thompson) 

Mount Vernon, 2 July ^ 1766 

SIR: 
With this letter comes a negro (Tom), which I beg 
the favor of you to sell in any of the Islands you may go 
to, for whatever he will fetch, and bring me in return from 
him 

One hhd of best molasses 

One ditto of best rum 

One barrel of lymes, if good and cheap 

One pot of tamarinds, containing about 10 lbs 

Two small ditto of mixed sweet meats, about 5 lbs. each. 

And the residue, much or little, in good old spirits. 
That this fellow is both a rogue and a runaway (tho' he 
was by no means remarkable for the former, and never 
practised the latter till of late) I shall not pretend to deny. 
But that he is exceeding healthy, strong, and good at the 
hoe, the whole neighborhood can testify, and particularly 
Mr. Johnson and his son, who have both had him under 
them as foreman of the gang ; which gives me reason to 
hope he may with your good management sell well, if kept 
clean and trimM up a little when offered for sale. 

I shall very chearfully allow you the customary commis- 
sions on this affair, and must beg the favor of you (lest he 
should attempt his escape) to keep him handcuffed till you 

7 



The Friendly Craft 

get to sea, or in the bay, after which I doubt not. but you 
may make him very useful to you. 

I wish you a pleasant and prosperous passage, and a 
safe and speedy return. . . . 

John Hancock can live no longer without Dolly ^> 

Philadelphia io*^ March 1777 
10 o'clock evening 

MY DEAR DEAR DOLLY : My Detention at the 
Ferry & the badness of the Roads prevented my 
arriving here untill Friday Evening. 

I put my things into Mr. Wilhams' house, and went in 
pursuit of lodgings. Neither Mrs. Yard nor Lucy could 
accommodate me. I then went to Smithes & borrowed 
Two Blankets & returned to my own house ; soon after 
which, Mrs. Smith sent me up a very handsome supper, 
with a Table cloth, Knives & forks, plates^ salt, a print of 
Butter, Tea, double refined Sugar, a Bowl of Cream, a 
Loaf of Bread &c. &c. & here I have remain^ & shall do 
so waiting your arrival. Indeed Mrs. Smith oblig'd me 
much. I however lead a doleful lonesome hfe. Tho' on 
Saturday, I dined at Dr. Shippins\ He desires his Re- 
gards, he is as lonesome as I. On Saturday I sat down 
to Dinner at the little table with Folger on a piece of 
Roast Beef with Potatoes. We drank your health with 
all our Baltimore friends. Last night Miss Lucy came to 
see me, & this morning, while I was at Breakfast on Tea 
with a pewter tea-spoon, Mrs. Yard came in. She could 
not stay to Breakfast with me. I spend my evenings at 
home, snuiT my candles wdth a pair of scissors, which Lucy 
seeing, sent me a pair of snuffers, & dipping the gravy out 
of the Dish with my pewter tea spoon, she sent me a large 
silver spoon, and two silver tea spoons — that I am now 
quite rich. 

8 



An Abundance of Lies 

I shall make out as well as I can, but I assure you, my 
Dear Soul, I long to have you here, & I know you will be 
as expeditious as you can. When I part from you again 
it must be a very extraordinary occasion. I have sent 
everywhere to get a gold or silver rattle for the child with 
a coral to send, but cannot get one. I will have one if 
possible on yr. coming. I have sent a sash for her & two 
little papers of pins for you. If you do not want them you 
can give them away. 

However unsettled things may be I could not help send- 
ing for you as I cannot live in this way. We have an 
abundance of lies. The current report is General Howe 
is bent on coming here, another report is that the 
Mercht's at New York are packing their goods & putting 
them on board ships & that the troops are going away, 
neither of which do I believe. We must, however take 
our chances, this you may depend on, that you will be 
ever the object of my utmost care & attention. 

I have been exceedingly busy, since I have been here, 
tho' have not yet made a Congress, are waiting for the 
South Carolina gentlemen. ... I hope you will be able 
to pack up all your things quickly & have them on the 
way, & that you will soon follow, be careful in packing & 
do not leave anything behind. Let Harry see that every 
thing is safely stored in the waggons. I send Mr. M^ 
Closky, he will be very useful. ... I was exceeding glad 
to hear from you & hope soon to receive another Letter. 
I know you will set off as soon as You can. Endeavor to 
make good stages. You may easily lodge at Mr. Steles' 
at Bush the first night. It is a good house. However I 
must leave those matters to you as the Road must in a 
great measure determine your Stages. I do not imagine 
there is any danger of the small-pox on the Road. Wil- 
mington is the most dangerous, but perhaps you can order 

9 



The Friendly Craft 

your stage so as not to lodge at Wilmington, but go on to 
Chester. I want to get somebody cleaver to accompany 
you. I hope to send one to you, but if I should not be 
able, you must make out as well as you can. 

II March 

I will write you by the Post tomorrow. I can't add as I 
am now calPd on. Take good care of Lydia. I hope no 
accident will happen. Inclosed you have a few memo, as 
to pack'g, &c. which I submit to your perusal. 

My best reg'ds to Mr. & Mrs. Purviance Capt Nicholson 
& Lady, Mr. Luce & family & indeed all friends. My love 
to Miss Katy, tell her to Ransack the house & leave noth- 
ing behind. The Waggoners will attend you at all times. 
Remember me to all in the family. May every blessing 
of an Indulgent providence attend you. I most sincerely 
wish you a good journey & hope I shall soon, very soon, 
have the happiness of seeing you with the utmost affection 
and Love. My Dear Dolly, 

I am yours forever John Hancock 

Doctor Bondcall'd on me, DesirM his compliments. 
He will inoculate the child as soon as it comes. 

Mrs. Washington got here on Saturday. I went to see 
her. She told me she Drank tea with you. . . . 

George Washington recounts his diurnal pursuits to 
James McHenry ^^> ^^:::^ ^v^ ^::y ^^ ^^:^ 

Mount Vernon, 29 May^ ij^j 

DEAR SIR, 
I am indebted to you for several unacknowledged 
letters ; but never mind that ; go on as if you had them. 
You are at the source of information, and can find many 

10 



Respect or Curiosity ? 

things to relate ; while I have nothing to say, that could 
either inform or amuse a Secretary at War in Philadelphia. 
I might tell him, that I begin my diurnal course with the 
sun ; that, if my hirelings are not in their places at that 
time I send them messages expressive of my sorrow for 
their indisposition ; that, having put these wheels in motion, 
I examine the state of things further ; and the more they 
are probed, the deeper I find the wounds are which my 
buildings have sustained by an absence and neglect of eight 
years ; by the time I have accomplished these matters, 
breakfast (a little after seven o'clock, about the time I 
presume you are taking leave of Mrs. McHenry), is ready ; 
that, this being over, I mount my horse and ride round my 
farms, which employs me until it is time to dress for dinner, 
at which I rarely miss seeing strange faces, come as they 
say out of respect for me. Pray, would not the word 
curiosity answer as well ? And how different this from 
having a few social friends at a cheerful board ! The usual 
time of sitting at table, a walk, and tea, brings me within 
the dawn of candle light ; previous to which, if not pre- 
vented by company, I resolve, that, as soon as the glimmer- 
ing taper supplies the place of the great luminary, I will 
retire to my writing-table and acknowledge the letters I 
have received ; but when the lights are brought, I feel 
tired and disinclined to engage in this work, conceiving 
that the next night will do as well. The next comes, and 
with it the same causes for postponement, and effect, and 
so on. . . . 

John Adams bids his wife COME -^:> ^:^ ^;^ ^::^ 

New York, 14 May^ 1789 

MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
I have received yours of the 5th. If you think it 
best, leave Thomas at college, but I pray you to come on 

II 



The Friendly Craft 

with Charles, as soon as possible. As to the place, let my 
brother plough and plant as he will, as much as he will. 
He may send me my half of the butter, cheese, &c., here. 
As to money to bear your expenses, you must, if you can, 
borrow of some friend, enough to bring you here. If you 
cannot borrow enough, you must sell horses, oxen, sheep, 
cows, anything at any rate rather than not come on. If no 
one will take the place, leave it to the birds of the air and 
beasts of the field, but at all events break up that estab- 
lishment and that household. . . . 

I am, &c., tenderly, 

John Adams 

President Adams invokes a blessing on the White 
House ^^ ^::> ^^> ^:> ^o ^^^ ^^:> ^^^ 

(To his wife) 

President's House, Washington City, 
2 November^ 1800 

MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
We arrived here last night, or rather yesterday, 
at one o^clock, and here we dined and slept. The build- 
ing is in a state to be habitable, and now we wish for your 
company. . . . 

I have seen only Mr. Marshall and Mr. Stoddert, Gen- 
eral Wilkinson and the two commissioners, Mr. Scott and 
Mr. Thornton. I shall say nothing of public affairs. I 
am very glad you consented to come on, for you would 
have been more anxious at Quincy than here, and I, to all 
my other solicitudines mordaces, as Horace calls them, 
i.e,^ "biting cares," should have added a great deal on 
your account. Besides, it is fit and proper that you and I 
should retire together, and not one before the other. Be- 
fore I end my letter, I pray heaven to bestow the best of 
blessings on this house, and on all that shall hereafter- in- 

12 



No Great Comfort 

habit it. May none but honest and wise men ever rule 
under this roof ! . . . 

I am, with unabated confidence and affection, your 

John Adams 

But Mrs. Adams finds the house inconvenient ^;:> 
(To her daughter) 
Washington, 21 IVovember, 1800 

MY DEAR CHILD, 
I arrived here on Sunday last, and without meeting 
with any accident worth noticing, except losing ourselves 
when we left Baltimore, and going eight or nine miles on 
the Frederick road, by which means we were obliged to 
go the other eight through woods, where we wandered two 
hours without finding a guide, or the path. Fortunately, 
a straggling black came up with us, and we engaged him 
as a guide, to extricate us out of our difficulty ; but woods 
are all you see, from Baltimore until you reach the city, 
which is only so in name. Here and there is a small cot, 
without a glass window, interspersed amongst the forests, 
through which you travel miles without seeing any human 
being. In the city there are buildings enough, if they were 
compact and finished, to accommodate Congress and those 
attached to it ; but as they are, and scattered as they are, 
I see no great comfort for them. The river, which runs up 
to Alexandria, is in full view of my window, and I see the 
vessels pass and repass. The house is upon a grand and 
superb scale, requiring about thirty servants to attend and 
keep the apartments in proper order, and perform the or- 
dinary business of the house and stables ; an establish- 
ment very well proportioned to the President's salary. 
The lighting the apartments, from the kitchen to parlours 
and chambers, is a tax indeed ; and the fires we are obliged 

13 



The Friendly Craft 

to keep to secure us from daily agues is another very cheer- 
ing comfort. To assist us in this great castle, and render 
less attendance necessary, bells are wholly wanting, not 
one single one being hung through the whole house, and 
promises are all you can obtain. This is so great an in- 
convenience, that I know not what to do, or how to do. 
The ladies from Georgetown and in the city have many of 
them visited me. Yesterday I returned fifteen visits, — but 
such a place as Georgetown appears, — why, our Milton is 
beautiful. But no comparisons ; — if they will put me up 
some bells, and let me have wood enough to keep fires, I 
design to be pleased. . . . 

You must keep all this to yourself, and, when asked how 
I like it, say that I write you the situation is beautiful, 
which is true. The house is made habitable, but there is 
not a single apartment finished, and all withinside, except 
the plastering, has been done since Bresler came. We 
have not the least fence, yard, or other convenience, with- 
out, and the great unfinished audience-room I make a dry- 
ing-room of, to hang up the clothes in. . . . 

Thomas comes in and says a House is made; so 
to-morrow, though Saturday, the President will meet them. 
Adieu, my dear. Give my love to your brother, and tell 
him he is ever present upon my mind. Affectionately 
your mother, 

A. Adams 



I 



Sarah Grimke describes a quaint wedding ^;:> '<;::y 
MUST now give thee some account of my dear 
sister's marriage, which probably thou hast al- 
ready heard of. Her precious husband is emphatically 
a man of God, a member of the Presbyterian Church. Of 
course Angelina will be disowned for forming this connec- 
tion, and I shall be for attending the marriage. We feel no 

14 



Free Utterance 

regret at this circumstance, believing that the discipline 
which cuts us off from membership for an act so strictly in 
conformity with the will of God, and so sanctioned by His 
word as is the marriage of the righteous, must be anti-Chris- 
tian, and I am thankful for an opportunity to testify against it. 
The marriage was solemnized at the house of our sister, 
Anna R. Frost, in Philadelphia, on the 14th instant 
[May, 1838]. By the law of Pennsylvania, a marriage 
is legal if witnessed by twelve persons. Neither clergy- 
man nor magistrate is required to be present. AngeUna 
could not conscientiously consent to be married by a 
clergyman, and Theodore D. Weld cheerfully consented 
to have the marriage solemnized in such manner as 
comported with her views. We all felt that the presence 
of a magistrate, a stranger, would be unpleasant to us 
at such a time, and we therefore concluded to invite such 
of our friends as we desired, and have the marriage 
solemnized as a religious act, in a rehgious and social 
meeting. Neither Theodore nor Angelina felt as if they 
could bind themselves to any preconceived form of words, 
and accordingly uttered such as the Lord gave them at 
the moment. Theodore addressed Angelina in a solemn 
and tender manner. He alluded to the unrighteous power- 
vested in a husband by the laws of the United States 
over the person and property of his wife, and he abjured 
all authority, all government, save the influence which 
love would give to them over each other as moral and 
immortal beings. I would give much could I recall his 
words, but I cannot. Angelina's address to him was brief 
but comprehensive, containing a promise to honor him, to 
prefer him above herself, to love him with a pure heart 
fervently. Immediately after this we knelt, and dear 
Theodore poured out his soul in solemn supphcation for 
the blessing of God on their union, that it might be 

15 



The Friendly Craft 

productive of enlarged usefulness, and increased sympathy 
for the slave. Angelina followed in a melting appeal 
to our Heavenly Father, for a blessing on them, and 
that their union might glorify Him, and then asked His 
guidance and over-shadowing love through the rest of 
their pilgrimage. A colored Presbyterian minister then 
prayed, and was followed by a white one, and then I 
felt as if I could not restrain the language of praise and 
thanksgiving to Him who had condescended to be in 
the midst of this marriage feast, and to pour forth abun- 
dantly the oil and wine of consolation and rejoicing. 
The Lord Jesus was the first guest invited to be present, 
and He condescended to bless us with His presence, and 
to sanction and sanctify the union which was thus con- 
summated. . The certificate was then read by William Lloyd 
Garrison, and was signed by the company. The evening 
was spent in pleasant social intercourse. . Several colored 
persons were present, among them two liberated slaves, 
who formerly belonged to our father, had come by inheri- 
tance to sister Anna, and had been freed by her. They 
were our invited guests, and we thus had an opportunity 
to bear our testimony against the horrible prejudice which 
prevails against colored persons, and the equally awful 
prejudice against the poor. . . . 

Showing that the couple lived happily ever after ^::> 

(Mrs. Weld to Miss Grimke, Sept., 1838) 

. . . "X T 7E have just come up from our evening meal, 
V V my beloved sister, and are sitting in our little 
study, for a while before taking our moonlight ramble on 
the river bank. After thou left us, I cleared up the 
dishes, and then swept the house ; got down to the 
kitchen just in time for dinner, which, though eaten alone, 

i6 



Burnt Apples 

was, I must confess, very much relished, for exercise 
gives a good appetite, thou knowest. I then set my beans 
to boil whilst I dusted, and was upstairs waiting, ready 
dressed, for the sound of the " Echo's " piston. Soon I 
heard it, and blew my whistle, which was not responded 
to, and I began to fear my Theodore was not on board. 
But I blew again, and the glad response came merrily 
over the water, and I thought I saw him. In a little while 
he came, and gave me all your parting messages. On 
Second Day the weather was almost cold, and we were 
glad to take a run at noon up the Palisades and sun 
ourselves on the rock at the first opening. Returning, 
we gathered some field beans, and some ajDples for stewing, 
as our fruit was nearly out. In the evening it was so cool 
that we thought a fire would be more comfortable, so 
we sat in the kitchen, paring apples, shelling beans, and 
talking over the Bible argument [against slavery] ; and, 
as we had a fire, I thought we had better stew the apples 
at once. This was done to save time the next day, but 
I burnt them sadly. However, thou knowest they were 
just as nice to our Theodore, who never complains of 
anything. Third Day evening we took a walk up the 
Palisades. The moon shone most beautifully, throwing 
her mantle of light all abroad over the blue arch of heaven, 
the gently flowing river, and the woods and vales around 
us. I could not help thinking, if earth was so lovely and 
bright, what must be the glories of that upper Temple 
which needeth not the light of the sun or of the moon. 
O sister, shall we ever wash our robes so white in the 
blood of the Lamb as to be clean enough to enter that 
pure and holy Temple of the Most High ? We returned 
to our dear little home, and went to bed by the lamp of 
heaven ; for we needed no other, so brightly did she 
shine through our windows. We remembered thee, dear 
c 17 



The Friendly Craft 

sister, in our little seasons of prayer at the opening and 
closing of each day. We pray the Lord to bring thee 
back to us in the fulness of the blessing of the Gospel 
of peace, and to make our house a home to thy weary, 
tossed, afflicted spirit. We feel it a great blessing to 
have thee under our roof. Thy room looks very desolate ; 
for, though the sun shines brightly in it, I find, after all, 
thou art the light of it. . . . 

The " delectable way of life " at Brook Farm ^::y <::^ 
(To Louisa Hawthorne) 
Brook Farm, West Roxbury, May 3, 1841 

AS the weather precludes all possibility of ploughing, 
hoeing, sowing, and other such operations, I bethink 
me that you may have no objections to hear something of 
my whereabout and whatabout. You are to know, then, 
that I took up my abode here on the 12th ultimo, in the 
midst of a snow-storm, which kept us all idle for a day or 
two. At the first glimpse of fair weather, Mr. Ripley 
summoned us into the cow-yard, and introduced me to an 
instrument with four prongs, commonly entitled a dung-fork. 
With this tool I have already assisted to load twenty or 
thirty carts of manure, and shall take part in loading nearly 
three hundred more. Besides, I have planted potatoes 
and pease, cut straw and hay for the cattle, and done various 
other mighty works. This very morning I milked three 
cows, and I milk two or three every night and morning. 
The weather has been so unfavorable that we have worked 
comparatively little in the fields ; but, nevertheless, I have 
gained strength wonderfully, — grown quite a giant, in 
fact, — and can do a day's work without the slightest in- 
convenience. In short, I am transformed into a complete 
farmer. 

18 



Transcendental Farming 

This is one of the most beautiful places I ever saw in my 
life, and as secluded as if it were a hundred miles from any 
city or village. There are woods, in which we can ramble 
all day without meeting anybody or scarcely seeing a 
house. Our house stands apart from the main road, so 
that we are not troubled even with passengers looking at 
us. Once in a while we have a transcendental visitor, 
such as Mr. Alcott ; but generally we pass whole days 
without seeing a single face, save those of the brethren. 
The whole fraternity eat together ; and such a delectable 
way of life has never been seen on earth since the days of 
the early Christians. We get up at half-past four, break- 
fast at half-past six, dine at half-past twelve, and go to bed 
at nine. 

The thin frock which you made for me is considered a 
most splendid article, and I should not wonder if it were 
to become the summer uniform of the Community. I have 
a thick frock, likewise ; but it is rather deficient in grace, 
though extremely warm and comfortable. I wear a tre- 
mendous pair of cowhide boots, with soles two inches thick, 
— of course, when I come to see you I shall wear my 
farmer's dress. 

... I would write more, but William Allen is going 
to the village, and must have this letter, so good-by. 

Nath. Hawthorne, Plough7nan, 

Mr. Hawthorne gets breakfast ^^:::^ ^^:^ ^^ <::> 

(Mrs. Hawthorne to her mother, from the Manse, 
Concord) 

December 27, 1843 

• • • A A/''^ ^^^ ^ ^^^* enchanting time during Mary the 

^^ cook's holiday sojourn in Boston. We remained 

in our bower undisturbed by mortal creature. Mr. Haw- 

19 



The Friendly Craft 

thorne took the new phasis of housekeeper, and, with that 
marvellous power of adaptation to circumstances that he 
possesses, made everything go easily and well. He rose 
betimes in the mornings, and kindled fires in the kitchen 
and breakfast-room, and by the time I came down, the 
tea-kettle boiled, and potatoes were baked and rice cooked, 
and my lord sat with a book, superintending. Just im- 
agine that superb head peeping at the rice or examining 
the potatoes with the air and port of a monarch! And 
that angelico riso on his face, lifting him clean out of culi- 
nary scenes into the arc of the gods. It was a magnificent 
comedy to watch him, so ready and willing to do these 
things to save me an effort, and at the same time so 
superior to it all, and heroical in aspect, — so unconsonant 
to what was about him. I have a new sense of his uni- 
versal power from this novel phasis of his life. It seems 
as if there were no side of action to which he is not equal, 
— at home among the stars, and, for my sake, patient and 
effective over a cooking-stove. 

Our breakfast was late, because we concluded to have 
only breakfast and dinner. After breakfast, I put the 
beloved study into very nice order, and, after establishing 
him in it, proceeded to make smooth all things below. 
When I had come to the end of my labors, my dear lord 
insisted on my sitting with him ; so I sat by him and 
sewed, while he wrote, with now and then a little discourse ; 
and this was very enchanting. At about one, we walked 
to the village ; after three, we dined. On Christmas day 
we had a truly Paradisiacal dinner of preserved quince 
and apple, dates, and bread and cheese, and milk. The 
washing of dishes took place in the mornings ; so we had 
our beautiful long evenings from four o'clock to ten. . . . 



20 



Little Una Sleeps 

Mrs. Hawthorne tells her mother that the baby sleeps 
and smiles '^:> -<;:> ^^ ^^^ <^ ^c:^ '<^y ^^ 

April ^^ 1844 

MY DEAREST MOTHER, — //^^?7^ ;^^//;;/^,— as you 
may imagine. I am baby's tire-woman, handmaiden, 
and tender, as well as nursing mother. My husband re- 
lieves me with her constantly, and gets her to sleep beauti- 
fully. I look upon him with wonder and admiration. He 
is with me all the time when he is not writing or exercis- 
ing. I do not think I shall have any guests this spring 
and summer, for I cannot leave Baby a minute to enact 
hostess ; it is a sweet duty that must take precedence of 
all others. 

Wednesday — Dearest mother, little Una sleeps. — 
Thursday — Dearest mother, yesterday little Una waked 
also, and I had to go to her. But she sleeps again 
this morning. She smiles and smiles and smiles, and 
makes grave remarks in a dovelike voice. Her eye- 
lashes are longer every morning, and bid fair to be, as 
Cornelia said Mr Hawthorne^s were, " a mile long and 
curled up at the end." Her mouth is sweetly curved, and, 
as Mary the cook prettily says, " it has so many lovely 
stirs in it." Her hands and fingers — ye stars and gods ! 

In spite of the heat, George William Curtis succeeds 
in writing poetry ^;^ -<::> -<;:> -^^^ ^;:::y '<:^ 

(To John S. Dwight) 

Concord, /^^^ 26th, 1844 

*' I ^HESE are Tophetic times. I doubt if the sturdy 

^ faith of those heroes, Shadrach and co., would carry 

them through this fervor unliquefied. Their much vaunted 

21 



The Friendly Craft 

furnace was but a cool retreat where thoughts of great- 
coats were possible, compared with this. And if that 
nether region of whose fires so much is sung by poets and 
other men possessed, can offer hotter heats, let them be 
produced. Those Purgatorial ardencies for the gentle 
suggestion of torment to their shades can have little in 
common with these perspiration-compelling torridities. 
Why does not some ingenious Yankee improve such times 
for the purchase, at a ruinous discount, of all thick clothes? 
I tremble lest some one should offer me an ice-cream for 
my best woollens! Is it human to resist such an offer? 
Does it not savor something of Devildom, and a too great 
familiarity with that lower Torrid Zone, to entertain such 
a proposition coolly? when such a word grows suddenly 
obsolete in such seasons ? If I venture to move, such an 
atmosphere of heat is created immediately around my body 
that all cool breezes (if the imagination is competent to 
such a conception) are like arid airs when they reach my 
mouth. Perhaps we are tending to those final, fiery days 
of which Miller is a prophet. We are slowly sinking, per- 
haps, from heat to heat, until entire rarefication and evan- 
ishment in imperceptible vapor ensues ; and so the great 
experiment of a world may end in smoke, as many minor 
ones have ended. If it were not so hot, I should love to 
think about these things. 

June 28th. So far I had proceeded on the afternoon I 
returned to Concord. When I desisted I supposed I had 
inscribed my final manuscript, and that only a cinder 
would be found sitting over it when some one should 
enter. Yet by the Providence of God I am preserved for 
the experience of greater heats. I did not know before 
what was the capacity of endurance of the human frame. 
I begin to suspect we are of nearer kin to the Salamander 
than our pride will allow ; and since Devils only are 

22 



Melting Poetry 

admitted to nether fire, I begin to lapse irrto the credence 
of total depravity ! ! Reflect upon my deplorable condi- 
tion ! As Shelley^s body, when lifeless, was caused to 
disappear in flames and smoke, so may mine before its 
tenant is departed. Was it not prophetic that on Sunday 
afternoon the following lines came to me while thinking of 
that poet ? 

Shelley 

A smoke that delicately curled to heaven, 
Mingling its blueness with the infinite blue, 

So to the air the faded form was given, 
So unto fame the gentle spirit grew. 

And as Shelley and Keats are associated always together 
in my mind, immediately the Muse gave me this : 

Keats 

A youth did plight his troth to Poesy. 

" Thee only," were the fervent words he said, 
Then sadly sailed across the foaming sea. 

And lay beneath the southern sunset dead. 

I was glad that once I could express what I think about 
those men. These will show you, but you must write your 
own poem upon them before you will be satisfied. Is it 
not so always ? We cannot speak much about poets until 
our thought of them sings itself. . . . 

My dear friend, I shall melt and be mailed in this letter 
as a spot if I do not surcease. May you be blessed with 
frigidity, a blessing far removed from my hope. Of course 
I must be warmly, nay, hotly remembered to Charles. 

Yrs ever, 

G. W. C. 

From the " Early Letters of George William Curtis to John S. Dwight," 
published by Harper & Brothers. 

23 



The Friendly Craft 

George William Curtis turns farmer ^;:> ^> '<^> 
(To John S. D wight) 

Concord, August 7th, 1844 

MY regret at not seeing you was only lessened by the 
beautiful day I passed with Mr. Hawthorne. His 
life is so harmonious wdth the antique repose of his house, 
and so redeemed into the present by his infant, that it is 
much better to sit an hour with him than hear the Rev. 
Barzillai Frost! His baby is the most serenely happy I 
ever saw. It is very beautiful, and lies amid such placid 
influences that it too may have a milk-white lamb as 
emblem ; and Mrs. Hawthorne is so tenderly respectful 
towards her husband that all the romance we picture in 
a cottage of lovers dwells subdued and dignified with 
them. I see them very seldom. The people here who 
are worth knowing, I find, live very quietly and retired. 
In the country, friendship seems- not to be of that con- 
suming, absorbing character that city circumstances give 
it, but to be quite content to feel rather than hear or do ; 
and that very independence which withdraws them into 
the privacy of their homes is the charm which draws thither. 

Mr. Emerson read an address before the antislavery 
^'friends" last Thursday. It was very fine. Not of that 
cold, clear, intellectual character which so many dislike, 
but ardent and strong. His recent reading of the history 
of the cause has given him new light and warmed a fine 
enthusiasm. ... It was nearly two hours long, but was 
very commanding. He looked genial and benevolent, as 
who should smilingly defy the world, the flesh, and the 
devil to ensnare him. The address will be published by 
the society ; and he will probably write it more fully, and 
chisel it into fitter grace for the public criticism. . . . 

For the last six weeks I have been learning what hard 
work is. Afternoon leisure is now remembered with the 

24 



Mowing and Sweating 

holiday which Saturday brought to the school-boy. Dur- 
ing the haying we have devoted all our time and faculty 
to the making of hay, leaving the body at night fit only 
to be devoted to sheets and pillows, and not to grave or 
even friendly epistolary intercourse. Oh friends ! live upon 
faith, say I, as I pitch into bed with the ghosts of Sunday 
morning resolutions of letters tickling my sides or thump- 
ing my back, and then sink into dreams where every day 
seems a day in the valley of Ajalon, and innumerable 
Joshuas command the sun and moon to stay, and uni- 
versal leisure spreads over the universe like a great wind. 
Then comes morning and wakefulness and boots and 
breakfast and scythes and heat and fatigue, and all my 
venerable Joshuas endeavor in vain to make oxen stand 
still, and I heartily wish them and I back in our valley 
ruhng the heavens and not bending scythes over unseen 
hassocks which do sometimes bend the words of our 
mouths into shapes resembhng oaths! those most crooked 
of all speech, but therefore best and fittest for the occa- 
sional crooks of life, particularly mowing. Yet I mow 
and sweat and get tired very heartily, for I want to drink 
this cup of farming to the bottom and taste not only the 
morning froth but the afternoon and evening strength of 
dregs and bitterness, if there be any. When haying is 
over, which event will take place on Saturday night of this 
week, fair weather being vouchsafed, I shall return to my 
moderation. Towards the latter part of the month I shall 
stray away towards Providence and Newport and sit down 
by the sea, and in it, too, probably. So I shall pass until har- 
vest. Where the snows will fall upon me I cannot yet say. 
... I know you will write when the time comes, so I 
say nothing but that I am your friend ever. G. W. C. 

From the " Early Letters of George William Curtis to John S. Dwight/* 
published by Harper & Brothers. 

25 



The Friendly Craft 

Mr. Thoreau sends Concord news to Mr. Emerson in 
England -^^^ ^^:> ^;::> ^;^ -^v^ ^;:> -^^ 

Concord, November 14, 1847 

DEAR FRIEND, — I am bi^*; a poor neighbor to you 
here, — a very poor companion am I. I understand 
that very well, but that need not prevent my writing to 
you now. I have almost never written letters in my life, 
yet I think I can write as good ones as I frequently see, 
so I shall not hesitate to write this, such as it may be, 
knowing that you will welcome anything that reminds you 
of Concord. 

I have banked up the young trees against the winter and 
the mice, and I will look out, in my careless way, to see when 
a pale is loose or a nail drops out of its place. The broad 
gaps, at least, I will occupy. I heartily wish I could be of 
good service to this household. But I, who have only used 
these ten digits so long to solve the problem of a living, 
how can I ? The world is a cow that is hard to milk, — hfe 
does not come so easy, — and oh, how thinly it is watered 
ere we get it ! But the young bunting calf, he will get at 
it. There is no way so direct. This is to earn one's living 
by the sweat of his brow. It is a little like joining a com- 
munity, this life, to such a hermit as I am ; and as I don't 
keep the accounts, I don't know whether the experiment will 
succeed or fail finally. At any rate, it is good for society, so 
I do not regret my transient nor my permanent share in it. 

Lidian [iMrs. Emerson] and I make very good house- 
keepers. She is a very dear sister to me. Ellen and Edith 
and Eddy and Aunty Brown keep up the tragedy and 
comedy and tragic-comedy of life as usual. The two 
former have not forgotten their old acquaintance ; even 
Edith carries a young memory in her head, I find. Eddy 

26 



Alcott's Arbor 

can teach us all how to pronounce. If you should discover 
any rare hoard of wooden or pewter horses, I have no doubt 
he will know how to appreciate it. He occasionally surveys 
mankind from my shoulders as wisely as ever Johnson did. 
I respect him not a little, though it is I that lift him up so 
unceremoniously. ... 

Alcott has heard that I laughed, and so set the people 
laughing, at his arbor, though I never laughed louder than 
when I was on the ridge-pole. But now I have not laughed 
for a long time, it is so serious. He is very grave to look 
at. But, not knowing all this, I strove innocently enough, 
the other day, to engage his attention to my mathematics. 
" Did you ever study geometry, the relation of straight lines 
to curves, the transition from the finite to the infinite ? Fine 
things about it in Newton and Leibnitz." But he would 
hear none of it, — men of taste preferred the natural curve. 
Ah, he is a crooked stick himself. ... As for the building, 
I feel a little oppressed when I come near it. It has no 
great disposition to be beautiful ; it is certainly a wonderful 
structure, on the whole, and the fame of the architect will 
endure as long as it shall stand. . . . 

... It is true enough, Cambridge College is really be- 
ginning to wake up and redeem its character and overtake 
the age. I see by the catalogue that they are about estab- 
lishing a scientific school in connection with the university, 
at which any one above eighteen, on paying one hundred 
dollars annually (Mr. Lawrence's fifty thousand dollars will 
probably diminish this sum), may be instructed in the high- 
est branches of science, — in astronomy, "theoretical and 
practical, with the use of the instruments " (so the great 
Yankee astronomer may be born without delay), in me- 
chanics and engineering to the last degree. Agassiz will 
ere long commence his lectures in the zoological depart- 
ment. A chemistry class has already been formed under the 

27 



The Friendly Craft 

direction of Professor Horsford. A new and adequate build- 
ing for the purpose is already being erected. They have 
been foolish enough to put at the end of all this earnest the 
old joke of a diploma. Let every sheep keep but his own 
skin, I say. 

I have had a tragic correspondence, for the most part all 

on one side, with Miss . She did really wish to — 

I hesitate to write — marry me. That is the way they spell 
it. Of course I did not write a deliberate answer. How 
could I deliberate upon it ? I sent back as distinct a 710 as 
I have learned to pronounce after considerable practice, and 
I trust that this no has succeeded. Indeed, I wished that 
it might burst, like hollow shot, after it had struck and 
buried itself and made itself felt there. There was no 
other way. I really had anticipated no such foe as this 
in my career. 

I suppose you will like to hear of my book, though I 
have nothing worth writing about it. Indeed, for the last 
month or two I have forgotten it, but shall certainly re- 
member it again. Wiley & Putnam, Munroe, the Harpers, 
and Crosby & Nichols have all declined printing it with 
the least risk to themselves ; but Wiley & Putnam will 
print it in their series, and any of them anywhere, at my 
risk. If I liked the book well enough, I should not delay ; 
but for the present I am indifferent. I believe this is, after 
all, the course you advised, — to let it lie. 

I do not know what to say of myself. I sit before my 
green desk, in the chamber at the head of the stairs, and 
attend to my thinking, sometimes more, sometimes less 
distinctly. I am not unwilling to think great thoughts if 
there are any in the wind, but what they are I am not sure. 
They suffice to keep me awake while the day lasts, at any 
rate. Perhaps they will redeem some portion of the night 



ere long. 



28 



Concord Politics 

I can imagine you astonishing, bewildering, confound- 
ing, and sometimes delighting John Bull with your Yankee 
notions, and that he begins to take a pride in the relation- 
ship at last ; introduced to all the stars of England in suc- 
cession, after the lecture, until you pine to thrust your head 
once more into a genuine and unquestionable nebular, if 
there be any left. . . . 

Hugh [the gardener] still has his eye on the Walden 
agellum, and orchards are waving there in the windy 
future for him. That's the where-Pll-go-next, thinks he ; 
but no important steps are yet taken. . . . Unfortunately, 
the day after cattle-show — the day after small beer — he 
was among the missing, but not long this time. The 
Ethiopian cannot change his skin nor the leopard his 
spots, nor indeed Hugh — his Hugh. . . . 

They have been choosing between John Keyes and Sam 
Staples, if the world wants to know it, as representative of 
this town, and Staples is chosen. The candidates for 
governor — think of my writing this to you! — were Gov- 
ernor Briggs and General Gushing, and Briggs is elected, 
though the Democrats have gained. Ain't I a brave boy to 
know so much of politics for the nonce? But I shouldn't 
have known it if Coombs hadn't told me. They have had 
a peace meeting here, — I shouldn't think of telling you if 
I didn't know anything would do for the English market, 
— and some men. Deacon Brown at the head, have signed 
a long pledge, swearing that they will ^' treat all mankind 
as brothers henceforth." I think I shall wait and see how 
they treat me first. I think that Nature meant kindly 
when she made our brothers few. However, my voice is 
still for peace. So good-by, and a truce to all joking, my 
dear friend, from 

H. D. T. 



29 



The Friendly Craft 

James Russell Lowell considers Cambridge doings 
quite as interesting as those of Italy ^:> ^^ 

(To William Wetmore Story) 

Elm WOOD, March loth, 1848 

MY DEAR WILLIAM, — I begin with a cheerful con- 
fidence as near the top of the page as I can, trust- 
ing that Providence will somehow lead me through my 
three pages to a triumphant "yours truly" at the end. 
Emelyn writes in good spirits, but I cannot help suspect- 
ing a flaw somewhere. There must be not a httle of the 
desolate island where S. M. F. is considered agreeable. 
It is hardly possible that pure happiness should exist so 
far from Cambridge. One needs not to go as far as Rome 
to find an attic, nor should I prefer an Italian clime to an 
American one. As for ruins, you have there, to be sure, 
plenty of them, the work of . . . Goths and other people 
with whom you have nothing whatever to do. But here 
we have an excellent ruin on Mount Benedict which we 
made ourselves. And, if you mention political changes, 
Italy has been getting herself born again ever since I can 
remember, and will have to be delivered by a Caesarian 
operation after all. Besides, have not we ours ? It is not 
a week since Sidney Willard was elected to our Canta- 
brigian Mayor^s nest in place of James D. Green. Mr. B. 
has been dismissed from the office as field-driver. We 
have two watchmen, who, I have no doubt, could put to 
flight the Pope's whole civic guard. Deacon Brown has 
retired from business. Will not all these things be as 
important to the interests of mankind a hundred years 
hence as that Noodle VI. sits on the throne of the two 
Sicilies or Loafer XXI. in the grand-ducal chair of 
Florence? If you have your Pio Nonos, we can also 

30 



Thermometrical Satisfactions 

boast our Tommy Nonose also, whom I meet every time 
I go to the Athenaeum. 

Emelyn talks of roses in blossom. For my part I think 
them no better out of season than green peas. I could 
never enter fully into these thermometrical and meteoro- 
logical satisfactions. Have you had three weeks' sleigh- 
ing ? Have you had the thermometer at 14 below zero ? 
Have you stored twenty thousand tons of ice? I presume 
you have not even so much as an ice-sickle to reap such a 
crop with. But I will not triumph, seeing that these are 
things in which I had no hand, and it is not your fault that 
you have no winter. We are not without our roses either, 
and the growth of the open air too. You should see them 
in Maria's cheeks — roses without a thorn, as St. Basil 
supposes them to have been in Eden. ... I confess I 
never had any great opinion of the ancient Romans. 
They stole everything. They stole the land they built 
the Eternal City on, to begin with. Then they stole their 
wives, then their religion, then their art. They never in- 
vented more than one god of any consequence, as far as I 
know, and he was a two-faced one, an emblem of the 
treacherous disposition of the people. Niebuhr has 
proved that they made up the only parts of their history 
that are creditable to them. . . . 

To-day, J. Q. Adams's body is received in Boston with 
great pomp. I am sorry that I cannot send you a pro- 
gramme of the procession, that you might show the 
Romans we can do a thing or two. The " Eastern mag- 
nificence " of the theatres is nothing to it. The corpse 
will be followed by one consistent politician (if he can be 
found) as chief mourner. The procession will consist 
wholly of what the newspapers call " unmingled " patriots, 
and will of course be very large. I have sent in a bale of 
moral pocket handkerchiefs for the mourners and for wads 

31 



The Friendly Craft 

to the cannon. The anti-slavery feeling of New England 
will bring up the rear of the cortege in a single carriage. 
There will be present on the occasion forty last survivors 
of the Boston Tea-party, and fifty thousand who were in 
the battle of Bunker's Hill. But it occurs to me that there 
may possibly be some kind of humbug in Rome also ; so 
I will leave this part of my discourse and ask you what you 
do for cigars? I know that the Virginian nepenthe is so 
much esteemed there that one of the popular oaths is '' per 
Bacco ! " but it does not follow that the plant is any better 
for being deified. I know that Vesuvius smokes, but do 
the people generally ? . . . 

Three letters from Louisa Alcott about the real Little 
Women ^v:> ^Qy ^::> ^c:>' ^^ -^^^^ ^v:^ -^^ 

L 
(To Anna Alcott) 

[Boston,] Thursday, 27th, [1853 or 1854?] 

DEAREST NAN, — I was so glad to hear from you, 
and hear that all were well. 

I am grubbing away as usual, trying to get money enough 
to buy Mother a nice warm shawl. I have eleven dollars, 
all my own earnings, — five for a story, and four for the 
pile of sewing I did for the ladies of Dr. Gray's society, to 
give him as a present. 

... I got a crimson ribbon for a bonnet for May, and 
I took my straw and fixed it nicely with some little duds 
I had. Her old one has haunted me all winter, and I want 
her to look neat. She is so graceful and pretty and loves 
beauty so much, it is hard for her to be poor and wear other 
people's ugly things. You and I have learned not to mind 
7mich ; but when I think of her I long to dash out and buy 
the finest hat the limited sum of ten dollars can procure. 

32 



Rag-Bag Rarities 



She says so sweetly in one of her letters : " It is hard 
sometimes to see other people have so many nice things 
and I so few ; but I try not to be envious, but contented 
with my poor clothes, and cheerful about it." I hope the 
little dear will like the bonnet and the frills I made her and 
some bows I fixed over from bright ribbons L. W. threw 
away. I get half my rarities from her rag-bag, and she 
doesn^t know her own rags when fixed over. I hope I shall 
live to see the dear child in silk and lace, with plenty of pic- 
tures and '^ bottles of cream," Europe, and all she longs for. 

For our good little Betty, who is wearing all the old 
gowns we left, I shall soon be able to buy a new one, and 
send it with my blessing to the cheerful saint. She writes 
me the funniest notes, and tries to keep the old folks 
warm and make the lonely house in the snowbanks cosey 
and bright. 

To Father I shall send new neckties and some paper ; then 
he will be happy, and can keep on with the beloved diaries 
though the heavens fall. 

Don't laugh at my plans ; I'll carry them out, if I go to 
service to do it. Seeing so much money flying about, I 
long to honestly get a little and make my dear family more 
comfortable. I feel w^ak-minded when I think of all they 
need and the little I can do. 

Now about you : Keep the money you have earned by 
so many tears and sacrifices, and clothe yourself; for it 
makes me mad to know that my good little lass is going 
around in shabby things, and being looked down upon by 
people who are not worthy to touch her patched shoes or 
the hem of her ragged old gowns. Make yourself tidy, and 
if any is left over send it to Mother ; for there are always 
many things needed at home, though they won't tell us. 
I only wish I too by any amount of weeping and homesick- 
ness could earn as much. But my mite won't come amiss ; 

D 33 



The Friendly Craft 

and if tears can add to its value, I've shed my quart, — 
first, over the book not coming out ; for that was a sad 
blow, and I waited so long it was dreadful when my castle 
in the air came tumbling about my ears. Pride made me 
laugh in pubHc ; but I wailed in private, and no one knew 
it. The folks at home think I rather enjoyed it, for I wrote 
a jolly letter. But my visit was spoiled; and now Tm 
digging away for dear life, that I may not have come 
entirely in vain. I didn't mean to groan about it ; but my 
lass and I must tell some one our trials, and so it becomes 
easy to confide in one another. I never let Mother know 
how unhappy you were in S. till Uncle wrote. 

My doings are not much this week. I sent a little tale 
to the "Gazette," and Clapp asked H. W. if five dollars 
would be enough. Cousin H. said yes, and gave it to me, 
with kind words and a nice parcel of paper, saying in his 
funny way, " Now, Lu, the door is open, go in and win." 
So I shall try to do it. Then cousin L. W. said Mr. B. 
had got my play, and told her that if Mrs. B. liked it as 
well, it must be clever, and if it didn't cost too much, he 
would bring it out by and by. Say nothing about it yet. 
Dr. W. tells me Mr. F. is very sick ; so the farce cannot be 
acted yet. But the Doctor is set on its coming out, and 
we have fun about it. H. W. takes me often to the theatre 
when L. is done with me. I read to her all the p.m. often, 
as she is poorly, and in that way I pay my debt to them. 

I'm writing another story for Clapp. I want more fives, 
and mean to have them too. 

Uncle wrote that you were Dr. W.'s pet teacher, and 
every one loved you dearly. But if you are not well, don't 
stay. Come home, and be cuddled by your old 

Lu 



34 



Married and Gone 

II 

(To Anna Alcott Pratt, immediately after her marriage) 

Sunday Morn, i860 

MRS. PRATT: 
My dear Madam, — The news of the town is as 
follows, and I present it in the usual journalesque style of 
correspondence. After the bridal train had departed, the 
mourners withdrew to their respective homes ; and the 
bereaved family solaced their woe by washing dishes for 
two hours and bolting the remains of the funeral baked 
meats. At four, having got settled down, we were all 
routed up by the appearance of a long procession of chil- 
dren filing down our lane, headed by the Misses H. and R. 
Father rushed into the cellar, and appeared with a large 
basket of apples, which went the rounds with much effect. 
The light infantry formed in a semi-circle, and was watered 
by the matron and the maids. It was really a pretty sight, 
these seventy children loaded with wreaths and flowers, 
standing under the elm in the sunshine, singing in full 
chorus the song I wrote for them. It was a neat little 
compliment to the superintendent and his daughter who 
was glad to find that her " pome " was a favorite among 
the '' lads and lasses " who sang it " with cheery voices, 
like robins on the tree.'' 

Father put the finishing stroke to the spectacle by going 
off at full speed, hoppity-skip, and all the babes followed in 
a whirl of rapture at the idea. He led them up and down 
and round and round till they were tired ; then they fell 
into order, and with a farewell song marched away, seventy 
of the happiest Httle ones I ever wish to see. We subsided, 
and fell into our beds with the new thought "Annie is 
married and gone " for a lullaby, which was not very effec- 
tive in its results with all parties. 

35 



The Friendly Craft 



Thursday we set our house in order, and at two the rush 
began. It had gone abroad that Mr. M. and Mrs. Captain 
Brown were to adorn the scene, so many people coolly 
came who were not invited, and who had no business here. 
People sewed and jabbered till Mrs. Brown, with Watson 
Brown's widow and baby came ; then a levee took place. 
The two pale women sat silent and serene through the 
clatter ; and the bright-eyed, handsome baby received the 
homage of the multitude like a little king, bearing the kisses 
and the praises with the utmost dignity. He is named 
Frederick Watson Brown, after his murdered uncle and 
father, and is a fair, heroic-looking baby, with a fine head, 
and serious eyes that look about him as if saying, " 1 am 
a Brown ! Are these friends or enemies ? " I wanted to 
cry once at the little scene the unconscious baby made. 
Some one caught and kissed him rudely ; he didn't cry, 
but looked troubled, and rolled. his great eyes anxiously 
about for some familiar face to reassure him with its smile. 
His mother was not there ; but though many hands were 
stretched to him, he turned to Grandma Bridge, and put- 
ting out his little arms to her as if she was a refuge, 
laughed and crowed as he had not done before when she 
danced him on her knee. The old lady looked delighted ; 
and Freddy patted the kind face, and cooed like a lawful 
descendant of that pair of ancient turtle doves. 

When he was safe back in the study, playing alone at 
his mother's feet, C. and I went and worshipped in our 
own way at the shrine of John Brown's grandson, kissing 
him as if he were a little saint, and feeling highly honored 
when he sucked our fingers, or walked on us with his 
honest Httle red shoes, much the worse for wear. 

Well, the baby fascinated me so that I forgot a raging 
headache and forty gabbling women all in full clack. 
Mrs. Brown, Sen., is a tall, stout woman, plain, but with a 

36 



A Tea Fight 

strong, good face, and a natural dignity that showed she 
was something better than a " lady," though she did drink 
out of her saucer and use the plainest speech. 

The younger woman had such a patient, heart-broken 
face, it was a whole Harper's Ferry tragedy in a look. 
When we got your letter, Mother and I ran into the study 
to read it. Mother read aloud ; for there were only C, 
A., I, and Mrs. Brown, Jr., in the room. As she read the 
words that were a poem in their simplicity and happiness, 
the poor young widow sat with tears rolling down her face ; 
for I suppose it brought back her own wedding-day, not 
two years ago, and all the while she cried the baby laughed 
and crowed at her feet as if there was no trouble in the 
world. 

The preparations had been made for twenty at the 
utmost ; so when forty souls with the usual complement of 
bodies appeared, we grew desperate, and our neat little 
supper turned out a regular " tea fight.*" A., C, B., and I 
rushed like comets to and fro trying to fill the multitude 
that would eat fast and drink like sponges. 1 filled a big 
plate with all I could lay hands on, and with two cups of 
tea, strong enough for a dozen, charged upon Mr. E. and 
Uncle S., telling them to eat, drink, and be merry, for a 
famine was at hand. They cuddled into a corner ; and 
then, feeling that my mission was accomplished, I let the 
hungry wait and the thirsty 77ioan for tea, while I picked 
out and helped the regular Anti-slavery set. 

We got through it; but it was an awful hour; and 
Mother wandered in her mind, utterly lost in a grove of 
teapots ; while B. pervaded the neighborhood demanding 
hot water, and we girls sowed cake broadcast through the 
land. 

When the plates were empty and the teapots dry, people 
wiped their mouths and confessed at last that they had 

37 



The Friendly Craft 

done. A conversation followed, in which Grandpa B. and 
E. P. P. held forth, and Uncle and Father mildly upset the 
world, and made a new one in which every one desired to 
take a place. Dr. B., Mr. B., T., etc., appeared, and the 
rattle continued till nine, when some Solomon suggested 
that the Alcotts must be tired, and every one departed but 
C. and S. We had a polka by Mother and Uncle, the 
lancers by C. and B., and an etude by S., after which 
scrabblings of feast appeared, and we " drained the dregs 
of every cup," all cakes and pies w^e gobbled up, etc. ; 
then peace fell upon us, and our remains were interred 
decently. . . . 

Ill 

(To Mrs. Pratt) 

MY LASS, — This must be a frivolous and dressy letter, 
because you always want to know about our clothes, 
and we have been at it lately. May's bonnet is a sight 
for gods and men. Black and white outside, with a great 
cockade boiling over the front to meet a red ditto surging 
from the interior, where a red rainbow darts across the 
brow, and a surf of white lace foams up on each side. I 
expect to hear that you and John fell flat in the dust with 
horror on beholding it. 

My bonnet has nearly been the death of me ; for, think- 
ing some angel might make it possible for me to go to the 
mountains, I felt a wish for a tidy hat, after wearing an old 
one till it fell in tatters from my brow. Mrs. P. promised 
a bit of gray silk, and I built on that ; but when I went for 
it I found my hat was founded on sand ; for she let me 
down with a crash, saying she wanted the silk herself, and 
kindly offering me a flannel petticoat instead. I was in 
woe for a spell, having one dollar in the world, and scorn- 

38 



Jo's Bonnet 

ing debt even for that prop of life, a " bonnet." Then I 
roused myself, flew to Dodge, demanded her cheapest bon- 
net, found one for a dollar, took it, and went home wonder- 
ing if the sky would open and drop me a trimming. I am 
simple in my tastes, but a naked straw bonnet is a little too 
severely chaste even for me. Sky did not open ; so I went 
to the *^ Widow Cruise's oil bottle" — my ribbon box — 
which, by the way, is the eighth wonder of the world, for 
nothing is ever put in it, yet I always find some old dud 
when all other hopes fail. From this salvation bin I ex- 
tracted the remains of the old white ribbon (used up, as I 
thought, two years ago), and the bits of black lace that 
have adorned a long line of departed hats. Of the lace I 
made a dish, on which I thriftily served up bows of rib- 
bon, like meat on toast. Inside put the lace bow, which 
adorns my form anywhere when needed. A white flower 
A.H. gave me sat airily on the brim, — fearfully unbecoming, 
but pretty in itself, and in keeping. Strings are yet to be 
evolved from chaos. I feel that they await me somewhere 
in the dim future. Green ones pro tern, hold this wonder 
of the age on my gifted brow, and I survey my hat with re- 
spectful awe. I trust you will also, and see in it another 
great example of the power of mind over matter, and the 
convenience of a colossal brain in the primeval wrestle with 
the unruly atoms which have harassed the feminine soul 
ever since Eve clapped on a modest fig-leaf and did up 
her hair with a thorn for a hair pin. 

I feel very moral to-day, having done a big wash alone, 
baked, swept the house, picked the hops, got dinner, and 
written a chapter in "Moods." May gets exhausted with 
work, though she walks six miles without a murmur. 

It is dreadfully dull, and I work so that I may not 
"brood." Nothing stirring but the wind; nothing to see 
but dust ; no one comes but rose-bugs ; so I grub and 

39 



The Friendly Craft 

scold at the "A.*" because it takes a poor fellow's tales and 
keeps 'em years without paying for 'em. If I think of my 
woes I fall into a vortex of debts, dish pans, and despond- 
ency awful to see. So I say, '- every path has its puddle," 
and try to play gayly with the tadpoles in my puddle, 
while I wait for the Lord to give me a lift, or some gallant 
Raleigh to spread his velvet cloak and fetch me over dry shod. 

L. W. adds to my woe by wTiting of the splendors of 
Gorham, and says, " When tired, run right up here and 
find rest among these everlasting hills.'" All very aggra- 
vating to a young w^oman with one dollar, no bonnet, half 
a gow^n, and a discontented mind. It's a mercy the moun- 
tains are everlasting, for it will be a century before /get 
there. Oh, me, such is life ! 

Now Tve done my Jeremiad, and Til go on twanging 
my harp in the " willow tree." 

You ask what I am writing. Well, two books half done, 
nine stories simmering, and stacks of fairy stories mould- 
ing on the shelf. I can't do much, as I have no time to 
get into a real good vortex. It unfits me for work, w^orries 
Ma to see me look pale, eat nothing, and ply by night. 
These extinguishers keep genius from burning as I could 
wish, and I give up ever hoping to do anything unless 
luck turns for your 

Lu 

Mrs. Stowe suggests tombstones for two -<:> '*v> 

(To her husband) 

January^ 1847 

MY DEAR SOUL, — I received your most melancholy 
effusion, and I am sorry to find it's just so. I en- 
tirely agree and sympathize. Why didn't you engage the 
two tombstones — one for you and one for me? . . . 

40 



Hurry, Hurry, Hurry 

But, seriously, my dear husband, you must try and be 
patient, for this cannot last forever. Be patient and bear 
it like the toothache, or a driving rain, or anything else 
that you cannot escape. To see things as through a glass 
darkly is your infirmity, you know ; but the Lord will yet 
deliver you from this trial. I know how to pity you, for 
the last three weeks I have suffered from an overwhelming 
mental depression, a perfect heartsickness. All I wanted 
was to get home and die. Die I was very sure I should, 
at any rate, but I suppose I was never less prepared to 
do so. . . . 

Two letters showing how Mrs. Stowe kept house and 

wrote books ^::> ^::> '<;::i>' -<;> -^^ -^Cy 

I 
(To Mrs. George Beecher) 

MY DEAR SISTER, — Is it really true that snow is 
on the ground and Christmas coming, and I have not 
written unto thee, most dear sister? No, I don't believe 
it ! I haven't been so naughty — it's all a mistake — yes, 
written I must have — and written I have, too — in the 
night-watches as I lay on my bed — such beautiful letters 
— I wish you had only received them ; but by day it has 
been hurry, hurry, hurry, and drive, drive, drive! or else 
the calm of a sick-room, ever since last spring. 

I put off writing when your letter first came, because I 
meant to write you a long letter, — a full and complete 
one; and so days slid by, — and became weeks, — and my 
little Charley came . . . etc., and etc.! ! ! Sarah, when 
I look back, I wonder at myself, not that I forget any one 
thing that I should remember, but that I have remembered 
anything. From the time that I left Cincinnati with my 
children to come forth to a country that I knew not of 
almost to the present time, it has seemed as if I could 

41 



The Friendly Craft 

scarcely breathe, I was so pressed with care. My head 
dizzy with the whirl of railroads and steamboats ; then 
ten days' sojourn in Boston, and a constant toil and hurry 
in buying my furniture and equipments ; and then land- 
ing in Brunswick in the midst of a drizzly, inexorable 
northeast storm, and beginning the work of getting in 
order a deserted, dreary, damp old house. All day long 
running from one thing to another, as, for example, thus : — 

"Mrs. Stowe, how shall I make this lounge, and what 
shall I cover the back with first ? " 

Mrs. Stowe. " With the coarse cotton in the closet." 

Woman. " Mrs. Stowe, there isn't any more soap to 
clean the windows." 

Mrs. Stowe. " Where shall I get soap ? " 

" Here, H., run up to the store and get two bars." 

*^ There is a man below wants to see Mrs. Stowe about 
the cistern. Before you go down, Mrs. Stowe, just show 
me how to cover this round end Of the lounge." 

" There's a man up from the depot, and he says that a 
box has come for Mrs. Stowe, and it's coming up to the 
house ; will you come down and see about it? " 

" Mrs. Stowe, don't go till you have shown the man how 
to nail that carpet in the corner. He's nailed it all 
crooked ; what shall he do ? The black thread is all used 
up, and what shall I do about putting gimp on the back 
of that sofa? Mrs. Stowe, there is a man come with a lot 
of pails and tinware from Furbish ; will you settle the bill 
now ? " 

'^ Mrs. Stowe, here is a letter just come from Boston in- 
closing that bill of lading ; the man wants to know what he 
shall do with the goods. If you will tell me what to say, I 
will answer the letter for you." 

" Mrs. Stowe, the meat-man is at the door. Hadn't we 
better get a little beefsteak, or something, for dinner? " 

42 



Direful Forebodings 



" Shall Hatty go to Boardman's for some more black 
thread ? " 

'^Mrs. Stowe, this cushion is an inch too wide for the 
frame. What shall we do now ? " 

"Mrs. Stowe, where are the screws of the black walnut 
bedstead ? " 

'^ Here's a man has brought in these bills for freight. 
Will you settle them now ? " 

"Mrs. Stowe, I don't understand using this great needle. 
I can't make it go through the cushion ; it sticks in the 
cotton." 

Then comes a letter from my husband, saying he is sick 
abed, and all but dead ; don't ever expect to see his family 
again ; wants to know how I shall manage, in case I am left 
a widow ; knows we shall get in debt and never get out ; 
wonders at my courage ; thinks I am very sanguine ; warns 
me to be prudent, as there won't be much to live on in case 
of his death, etc., etc., etc. I read the letter and poke it 
into the stove, and proceed. . . . 

Some of my adventures were quite funny ; as for example : 
I had in my kitchen-elect no sink, cistern, or any other 
water privileges, so I bought at the cotton factory two of 
the great hogsheads they bring oil in, which herein Bruns- 
wick are often used for cisterns, and had them brought up 
in triumph to my yard, and was congratulating myself on my 
energy, when lo and behold ! it was discovered that there 
was no cellar door except one in the kitchen, which was truly 
a strait and narrow way, down a long pair of stairs. Here- 
upon, as saith John Bunyan, I fell into a muse, — how to 
get my cisterns into my cellar. In days of chivalry I might 
have got a knight to make me a breach through the founda- 
tion walls, but that was not to be thought of now, and my 
oil hogsheads, standing disconsolately in the yard, seemed 
to reflect no great credit on my foresight. In this strait I 

43 



The Friendly Craft 

fell upon a real honest Yankee cooper, whom I besought, 
for the reputation of his craft and mine, to take my 
hogsheads to pieces, carry them down in staves, and set 
them up again, which the worthy man actually accomplished 
one fair summer forenoon, to the great astonishment of "us 
Yankees." When my man came to put up the pump, he 
stared very hard to see my hogsheads thus translated and 
standing as innocent and quiet as could be in the cellar, 
and then I told him, in a very mild, quiet way, that I got 
'em taken to pieces and put together, — just as if I had been 
always in the habit of doing such things. Professor Smith 
came down and looked very hard at them and then said, 
"Well, nothing can beat a willful woman." Then followed 
divers negotiations with a very clever, but (with reverence) 
somewhat lazy gentleman of jobs, who occupieth a carpen- 
ter's shop opposite to mine. This same John Titcomb, my 
very good friend, is a character peculiar to Yankeedom. 
He is part owner and landlord of the house I rent, and 
connected by birth with all the best familes in town ; a man 
of real intelligence, and good education, a great reader, and 
quite a thinker. Being of an ingenious turn, he does paint- 
ing, gilding, staining, upholstery jobs, varnishing, all in 
addition to his primary trade of carpentry. But he is a 
man studious of ease, and fully possessed with the idea that 
man wants but Ijttle here below ; so he boards himself in 
his workshop on crackers and herring, washed down with 
cold water, and spends his time working, musing, reading 
new publications, and taking his comfort. In his shop 
you shall see a joiner's bench, hammers, planes, saws, 
gimlets, varnish, paint, picture frames, fence posts, rare 
old china, one or two fine portraits of his ancestry, a 
bookcase full of books, the tooth of a whale, an old spin- 
ning wheel and spindle, a lady's parasol frame, a church 
lamp to be mended, in short, Henry says Mr. Titcomb's 

44 



An Odd- Job Man 

shop is like the ocean ; there is no end to the curiosities 
in it. 

In all my moving and fussing, Mr. Titcomb has been 
my right-hand man. Whenever a screw was loose, a nail 
to be driven, a lock mended, a pane of glass set, — and 
these cases were manifold — he was always on hand. 
But my sink was no fancy job, and I believe nothing but 
a very particular friendship would have moved him to 
undertake it. So this same sink lingered in a precarious 
state for some weeks, and when I had nothing else to do, I 
used to call and do what I could in the way of enlisting 
the good man's sympathies in its behalf. 

How many times I have been in and seated myself in 
one of the old rocking-chairs, and talked first of the news 
of the day, the railroad, the last proceedings in Congress, 
the probabilities about the millennium, and thus brought 
the conversation by little and little round to my sink ! . . . 
because, till the sink was done, the pump could not be 
put up, and we couldn't have any rain-water. Sometimes 
my courage would quite fail me to introduce the subject, 
and I would talk of everything else, turn and get out of 
the shop, and then turn back as if a thought had just 
struck my mind, and say : — 

^^Oh, Mr. Titcomb! about that sink?" 

" Yes, maam, I was thinking about going down street 
this afternoon to look out stuff for it." 

^' Yes, sir, if you would be good enough to get it done 
as soon as possible ; we are in great need of it." 

^^I think there's no hurry. I believe we are going to 
have a dry time now, so that you could not catch any 
water, and you won't need a pump at present." 

These negotiations extended from the first of June to 
the first of July, and at last my sink was completed, and 
so also was a new house spout, concerning which I had 

45 



The Friendly Craft 



had divers communings with Deacon Dunning of the 
Baptist church. Also during this time good Mrs. Mitchell 
and myself made two sofas, or lounges, a barrel chair, 
divers bedspreads, pillow cases, pillows, bolsters, mat- 
tresses ; we painted rooms ; we revarnished furniture ; we 
— what didnH we do? 

Then came on Mr. Stowe ; and then came the eighth 
of July and my little Charley. I was really glad for an 
excuse to lie in bed, for I was full tired, I can assure you. 
Well, I was what folks call very comfortable for two weeks 
when my nurse had to leave me. . . . 

During this time I have employed my leisure hours in 
making up my engagements with newspaper editors. I 
have written more than anybody, or I myself, would have 
thought. I have taught an hour a day in our school, and 
I have read two hours every evening to the children. The 
children study English history in school, and I am read- 
ing Scott's historical novels in their order. To-night I 
finish the " Abbot " ; shall begin " Kenilworth " next 
week; yet I am constantly pursued and haunted by the 
idea that I don't do anything. Since I began this note I 
have been called off at least a dozen times ; once for the 
fish-man to buy a codfish ; once to see a man who had 
brought me some barrels of apples ; once to see a book- 
man ; then to Mrs. Upham, to see about a drawing I 
promised to make for her ; then to nurse the baby ; then 
into the kitchen to make a chowder for dinner ; and now 
I am at it again, for nothing but deadly determination 
enables me ever to write ; it is rowing against wind and 
tide. 

I suppose you think now I have begun, I am never 
going to stop, and, in truth, it looks like it ; but the spirit 
moves now and I must obey. 

Christmas is coming, and our little household is all 

46 



A Little Bit of a Woman 

alive with preparations; every one collecting their little 
gifts with wonderful mystery and secrecy. . . . 

To tell the truth, dear, I am getting tired ; my neck and 
back ache, and I must come to a close. 

Your ready kindness to me in the spring I felt very 
much ; and why I did not have the sense to have sent you 
one line just by way of acknowledgment, I'm sure I don't 
know; I felt just as if I had, till I awoke, and behold! I 
had not. But, my dear, if my wits are somewhat wool- 
gathering and unsettled, my heart is as true as a star. I love 
you, and have thought of you often. . . . 

Affectionately yours, 

H. Stowe 

II 

(To Mrs. Follen) 

Andover, February i6, [1853] 

MY DEAR MADAM, — I hasten to reply to your 
letter, to me the more interesting that I have long 
been acquainted with you, and during all the nursery part 
of my life made daily use of your poems for children. 

I used to think sometimes in those days that I would 
write to you, and tell you how much I was obliged to you 
for the pleasure which they gave us all. 

So you want to know something about what sort of a 
woman I am! Well, if this is any object, you shall have 
statistics free of charge. To begin, then, I am a little bit 
of a woman, — somewhat more than forty, about as thin 
and dry as a pinch of snuff ; never very much to look at in 
my best days, and looking like a used-up article now. 

I was married when I was twenty-five years old to a man 
rich in Greek and Hebrew, Latin and Arabic, and, alas ! 
rich in nothing else. When I went to housekeeping, my 
entire stock of china for parlor and kitchen was bought for 

47 



The Friendly Craft 

eleven dollars. That lasted very well for two years, till 
my brother was married and brought his bride to visit me. 
I then found, on review, that I had neither plates nor 
teacups to set a table for my father's family ; wherefore I 
thought it best to reinforce the establishment by getting 
me a tea-set that cost ten dollars more, and this, I believe, 
formed my whole stock in trade for some years. 

But then I was abundantly enriched with wealth of 
another sort. 

I had two little curly-headed twin daughters to begin 
with, and my stock in this line has gradually increased, 
till I have been the mother of seven children, the most 
beautiful and the most loved of whom lies buried near my 
Cincinnati residence. It was at his dying bed and at his 
grave that I learned what a poor slave mother may feel 
when her child is torn away from her. In those depths of 
sorrow which seemed to me immeasurable, it was my only 
prayer to God that such anguish might not be suffered in 
vain. There were circumstances about his death of such 
peculiar bitterness, of what seemed almost cruel suffering, 
that I felt that I could never be consoled for it unless this 
crushing of my own heart might enable me to work out 
some great good to others. . . . 

I allude to this here because I have often felt that much 
that is in that book ('' Uncle Tom ") had its root in the 
awful scenes and bitter sorrows of that summer. It has 
left now, I trust, no trace on my mind except a deep com- 
passion for the sorrowful, especially for mothers who are 
separated from their children. 

During long years of struggling with poverty and sick- 
ness, and a hot, debilitating climate, my children grew up 
around me. The nursery and the kitchen were my 
principal fields of labor. Some of my friends, pitying my 
trials, copied and sent a number of little sketches from my 

48 



The Philosopher's Stone 

pen to certain liberally paying '^ Annuals " with my name. 
With the first money that I earned in this way I bought a 
feather-bed ! for as I had married into poverty and without 
a dowry, and as my husband had only a large library of books 
and a great deal of learning, the bed and pillows were 
thought the most profitable investment. After this I thought 
that I had discovered the philosopher's stone. So when a 
new carpet or mattress was going to be needed, or when, at 
the close of the year, it began to be evident that my family 
accounts, like poor Dora's, " wouldn't add up," then I used 
to say to my faithful friend and factotum Anna, who shared 
all my joys and sorrows, " Now, if you will keep the 
babies and attend to the things in the house for one day, 
ril write a piece, and then we shall be out of the scrape." 
So I became an author, — very modest at first, I do 
assure you, and remonstrating very seriously with the 
friends who had thought it best to put my name to the 
pieces by way of getting up a reputation. . . . One thing 
I must say with regard to my life at the West, which you 
will understand better than many English women could. 

I lived two miles from the city of Cincinnati, in the 
country, and domestic service, not always you know to be 
found in the city, is next to an impossibility to obtain in 
the country, even by those who are willing to give the 
highest wages ; so what was to be expected for poor me, 
who had very little of this world's goods to offer ? 

Had it not been for my inseparable friend Anna, a 
noble-hearted English girl, who landed on our shores in 
destitution and sorrow, and clove to me as Ruth to 
Naomi, I had never lived through all the trials which this 
uncertainty and want of domestic service imposed on 
both ; you may imagine, therefore, how glad I was when, 
our seminary property being divided out into small lots 
which were rented at a low price, a number of poor 
E 49 



The Friendly Craft 

families settled in our vicinity, from whom we could 
occasionally obtain domestic service. About a dozen 
families of liberated slaves were among the number, and 
they became my favorite resort in cases of emergency. If 
anybody wishes to have a black face look handsome, let 
them be left, as I have been, in feeble health in oppressive 
hot weather^ v/ith a sick baby in arms, and two or three 
other little ones in the nursery, and not a servant in the 
whole house to do a single turn. Then, if they could see 
my good old Aunt Frankie coming with her honest, bluif, 
black face, her long, strong arms, her chest as big and 
stout as a barrel, and her hilarious, hearty laugh, perfectly 
delighted to take one's washing and do it at a fair price, 
they would appreciate the beauty of black people. . . . 

I am now writing a work which will contain, perhaps, 
an equal amount of matter with " Uncle Tom's Cabin." 
It will contain all the facts and documents on which that 
story was founded, and an immense body of facts, reports 
of trials, legal documents, and testimony of people now 
living South, which will more than confirm every state- 
ment in " Uncle Tom's Cabin." . . . 

I suffer exquisitely in writing these things. It may be 
truly said that I write with my heart's blood. Many times 
in writing " Uncle Tom's Cabin " I thought my health 
would fail utterly ; but I prayed earnestly that God would 
help me till I got through, and still I am pressed beyond 
measure and above strength. 

This horror, this nightmare abomination ! can it be in 
my country ! It lies like lead on my heart, it shadows 
my life with sorrow ; the more so that I feel, as for my 
own brothers, for the South, and am pained by every hor- 
ror I am obliged to write, as one who is forced by some 
awful oath to disclose in court some family disgrace. 
Many times I have thought that I must die, and yet I pray 

50 



A Nice Little Room 

God that I may live to see something done. I shall in all 
probability be in London in May : shall I see you ? 

It seems to me so odd and dream-like that so many 
persons desire to see me^ and now I cannot help thinking 
that they will think, when they do, that God hath chosen 
" the weak things of this world." 

If I live till spring I shall hope to see Shakespeare's 
grave, and Milton's mulberry-tree, and the good land of 
my fathers, — old, old England ! May that day come ! 

Yours affectionately, 

H. B. Stowe 



Prairie life in the 'Forties '<::^y ^;:> ^x:^ ^;:> ^o ^^:> 
(Lucy Larcom to Mrs. Haskell) 

Looking-glass Prairie, May 19, 1846 

DEAR SISTER ABBY, — I think it is your turn to 
have a letter now, so I've just snuffed the candle, 
and got all my utensils about me, and am going to see 
how quickly I can write a good long one. 

Well, for my convenience, I beg that you will borrow 
the wings of a dove, and come and sit down here by me. 
There, — don't you see what a nice little room we are in ? 
To be sure, one side of it has not got any side to it, 
because the man couldn't afford to lath and plaster it, but 
that patch curtain that Emeline has hung up makes it 
snug enough for summer time, and reminds us of the days 
of ancient tapestried halls, and all that. That door, where 
the curtain is, goes into the entry ; and there, right oppo- 
site, is another one that goes into the parlor, but I shall 
not go in there with you, because there aren't any chairs 
in there ; you might sit on Emeline's blue trunk, or 

5^ 



The Friendly Craft 

Sarah's green one, though ; but Vm afraid you would go 
behind the sheet in the corner, and steal some of Eme- 
line's milk that she's saving to make butter of; and then, 
just as likely as not, you'd want to know why that square 
piece of board was put on the bottom of the window, with 
the pitchfork stuck into it to keep it from falHng; of 
course, we shouldn't like to tell you that there's a square 
of glass out, and I suppose you don't know about that 
great tom-cat's coming in, two nights, after we had all 
gone to bed, and making that awful caterwauling. So 
you had better stay here in the kitchen, and I'll show you 
all the things ; it won't take long. That door at the top 
of three steps leads upstairs; the little low one close to 
it is the closet door, — you needn't go prying in there, to 
see what we've got to eat, for you'll certainly bump your 
head if you do ; pass by the parlor door and the curtain, 
and look out of that window qn the front side of the 
house ; if it was not so dark, you might see the beautiful 
flower-beds that Sarah has made, — a big diamond in the 
centre, with four triangles to match it. As true as I live, 
she has been making her initials right in the centre of the 
diamond ! There's a great S, and an M, but where's the H ? 
Oh ! you don't know how that dog came in and scratched 
it all up, and laid down there to sun himself, the other 
day. We tell her there's a sign to it, — losing her maiden 
name so soon. She declares she won't have it altered by 
a puppy, though. These two windows look (through the 
fence) over to our next neighbor's ; that's our new cooking- 
stove between them ; isn't it a cunning one ? the funnel 
goes up clear through Emeline's bedroom, till it gets to 
"outdoors." We keep our chimney in the parlor. Then 
that door on the other side looks away across the prairie, 
three or four miles ; and that brings us to where we 
started from. 

52 



Furniture and Food 

As to furniture, this is the table, where I am writing ; 
it is a stained one, without leaves, large enough for six 
to eat from, and it cost just two dollars and a quarter. 
There are a half dozen chairs, black, with yellow figures, 
and this is the rocking-chair, where we get baby to sleep. 
That is E.'s rag mat before the stove, and George fixed 
that shelf for the waterpail in the corner. The coifee-mill 
is close to it, and that's all. Now don't you call us rich ? 
I'm sure we feel grand enough. 

Now, if you would only just come and make us a visit 
in earnest, Emehne would make you some nice corn-meal 
fritters, and you should have some cream and sugar on 
them ; and I would make you some nice doughnuts, for 
IVe learned so much ; and you should have milk or coffee, 
just as you pleased ; it is genteel to drink coffee for break- 
fast, dinner, and supper, here. Then, if you didn't feel 
satisfied, we should say that it was because you hadn't 
lived on johnny-cakes and milk a week, as we did. 

I have got to begin to be very dignified, for I am going 
to begin to keep school next Monday, in a little log-cabin, 
all alone. One of the " committee men " took me to 
Lebanon, last Saturday, in his prairie wagon, to be ex- 
amined. You've no idea how frightened I was, but I 
answered all their questions, and didn't make any more 
mistakes than they did. They told me I made handsome 
figures, wrote a good hand, and spoke correctly, so I begin 
to feel as if I know most as much as other folks. 

Emeline does not gain any flesh, although she has grow^n 
very handsome since she came to the land of " hog and 
hominy." Your humble servant is as fat as a pig, as 
usual, though she has not tasted any of the porkers since 
her emigration, for the same reason that a certain gentle- 
man would not eat any of Aunt Betsy's cucumbers, — " not 
fit to eat." That's my opinion, and if you had seen such 

53 



The Friendly Craft 



specimens of the living animal as I have, since I left home, 
youM say so, too. 

Lucy 

The happy home of an old bachelor ^;::^ ^::^ ^::> 

SuNNYSiDE, March ii, 1853 

MY DEAR MRS. KENNEDY: 
... I arrived in New York too late for the Hudson 
River Railroad cars, so I had to remain in the city until 
morning. Yesterday I alighted at the station, within ten 
minutes' walk of home. The walk was along the railroad, 
in full sight of the house. I saw female forms in the 
porch, and I knew the spy-glass was in hand. In a 
moment there was a waving of handkerchiefs, and a 
hurrying hither and thither. Never did old bachelor come 
to such a loving home, so gladdened by blessed woman- 
kind. In fact I doubt whether many married men receive 
such a heartfelt welcome. My friend Horseshoe [Mr. 
Kennedy], and one or two others of my acquaintance, 
may ; but there are not many as well off in domestic life 
as I. However, let me be humbly thankful, and repress 
all vainglory. 

After all the kissing and crying and laughing and 
rejoicing were over, I sallied forth to inspect my domains, 
welcomed home by my prime minister Robert, and my 
master of the house Thomas, and my keeper of the poultry 
yard, William. Every thing was in good order ; all had 
been faithful in the discharge of their duties. My fields 
had been manured, my trees trimmed, the fences repaired 
and painted. I really believe more had been done in my 
absence than would have been done had I been home. 
My horses were in good condition. Dandy and Billy, the 
coach horses, were as sleek as seals. Gentleman Dick, 

54 



Rural Matters 

my saddle horse, showed manifest pleasure at seeing me ; 
put his cheek against mine, laid his head on my shoulder, 
and would have nibbled at my ear had I permitted it. One 
of my Chinese geese was sitting on eggs ; the rest were 
saiHng like frigates in the pond, with a whole fleet of white 
topknot ducks. The hens were vying with each other 
which could bring out the earliest brood of chickens. 
Taffy and Tony, two pet dogs of a dandy race, kep^ more 
for show than use, received me with well-bred though 
rather cool civility ; while my little terrier slut Ginger 
bounded about me almost crazy with delight, having five 
little Gingers toddling at her heels, with which she had 
enriched me during my absence. 

I forbear to say anything about my cows, my Durham 
heifer, or my pigeons, having gone as far with these rural 
matters as may be agreeable. Suffice it to say, everything 
was just as heart could wish ; so, having visited every 
part of my empire, I settled down for the evening in my 
elbow chair, and entertained the family circle with all the 
wonders I had seen at Washington. . . . 

God bless you all, and make you as happy as you de- 
light to make others. Ever yours most truly, 

Washington Irving 



Thomas Bailey Aldrich writes from a " dim spot of 
earth called Boston " ^^^ <<:> -<::> ^^^ 

(To George E. Woodberry) 

Milton, May 14, 1892 

DEAR WOODBERRY, — This little realm — bounded 
on the North by "Tamerlane,'' and on the South, 
East, and West by preparations for Europe — must seem 

55 



The Friendly Craft 

to you a very contracted realm indeed, compared to the 
great wallowing sphere in which you live, move, and have 
your — salary. Nevertheless, I drop you a line from this 
dim spot of earth called Boston. A bloated bondholder 
with $1850 snatched that copy of "Tamerlane" away 
from me and I saw it go with tears in my eyes. I went 
home and wrote a misanthropic poem called " Unguarded 
Gates," (July Atlantic !), in which I mildly protest against 
America becoming the cesspool of Europe. Pm much too 
late, however. I looked in on an anarchist meeting the 
other night, as I told you, and heard such things spoken 
by our "feller citizens" as made my cheek burn. These 
brutes are the spawn and natural result of the French 
Revolution ; they don't want any government at all, they 
"want the earth" (like a man in a balloon) and chaos. 
My Americanism goes clean beyond yours. I believe in 
America for the Americans ; I believe in the widest freedom 
and the narrowest license, and I hold that jail-birds, pro- 
fessional murderers, amateur lepers ("moon-eyed" or 
otherwise), and human gorillas generally should be closely 
questioned at our Gates. Or the " sifting " that was done 
of old will have to be done over again. A hundred and 
fifty years from now, Americans — if any Americans are 
left — will find themselves being grilled for believing in 
God after their own fashion. As nearly as I can estimate 
it off-hand, there will be only five or six extant — the poor 
devils ! I pity them prospectively. They were a promis- 
ing race, they had such good chances, but their politicians 
would coddle the worst elements for votes, and the news- 
papers would appeal to the slums for readers. The reins 
of government in all their great cities and towns slipped 
from the hands of the natives. A certain Arabian writer, 
called Rudyard Kipling, described exactly the government 
of every city and town in the (then) United States when 

56 



Dear Little Trip 



he described that of New York as being ^^ a despotism of 
the ahen, by the ahen, for the alien, tempered with occa- 
sional insurrections of decent folk." 

But to turn to important matters, I am having a bit of 
headstone made for Trip's ^ grave at Ponkapog. The dear 
little fellow ! he had better m.anners and more inteUigence 
than half the persons you meet '' on the platform of a 
West-End car." Ne wasn't constantly getting drunk and 
falling out of the windows of tenement houses, like Mrs. 
OTlarraty ; /le wasn't forever stabbing somebody in North 
Street. Why should he be dead, and these other creatures 
exhausting the ozone? If he had written realistic novels 
and "poems" I could understand "the deep damnation of 
his taking off." In view of my own mature years I will 
not say that "they die early whom the gods love." . . . 
No. 59 is to close its door on May 17, and we are to spend 
our time here and there, principally at Ponkapog, until the 
13th of June, when we shall go to New York to sail on the 
15th. . . . Mrs. T. B. is having a good time in turning 
our house upside down, and making it no place for a 
Christian to write hundred-dollar lyrics in. She insisted 
on having my inkstand washed, and I got a temporary 
divorce. ... 

I've had no word from you for ages, and now I think 
of it, you don't deserve so long and instructive a letter as 
this, and so I'll end it. 

Affectionately yours, 

T. B. A. 

1 his dog. 



57 



The Friendly Craft 

The beauty that ever is on land and sea ^::^ ^;:^ ^^ 
Beverly, Mass., December 15, 1867 

MY DEAR MISS INGELOW, — It was very kind of 
you to write to me, and I can hardly tell you how 
much pleasure your letter gave me, in my at present lonely 
and unsettled life. I think a woman^s life is necessarily 
lonely, if unsettled : the home-instinct lies so deep in us. 
But I have never had a real home since I was a little 
child. I have married sisters, with whom I stay, when 
my work allows it, but that is not like one's own place. 
I want a corner exclusively mine, in which to spin my own 
web and ravel it again, if I wish. 

I wish I could learn to think my own thoughts in the 
thick of other people's lives, but I never could, and I am 
too old to begin now. However, there are compensations 
in all things, and I would not be out of reach of the happy 
children's voices, which echo round me, although they 
will break in upon me rather suddenly, sometimes. 

You asked about the sea, — our sea. The coast here 
is not remarkable. Just here there is a deep, sunny 
harbor, that sheltered the second company of the Pil- 
grim settlers from the Mother-Country, more than two 
centuries ago. A little river, which has leave to be such 
only at the return of the tide, half clasps the town in its 
crooked arm, and makes many an opening of beauty twice 
a day, among the fields and under the hills. The harbor 
is so shut in by islands, it has the effect of a lake ; and the 
tide comes up over the wide, weedy flats, with a gentle 
and gradual flow. There are never any dangerous " High 
Tides " here. But up the shore a mile or two, the islands 
drift away, and the sea opens gradually as we near the 
storm-beaten point of Cape Ann, where we can see noth- 
ing but the waves and the ships, between us and Great 

58 



Coast Flowers 

Britain. The granite cliffs grow higher towards the Cape, 
but their hollows are relieved by little thickets of intensely 
red wild roses, and later, by the purple twinkling asters, 
and the golden-rod's embodied sunshine. 

The east wind is bitter upon our coast. The wild rocks 
along the Cape are strewn with memories of shipwreck. 
Perhaps you remember Longfellow's " Wreck of the Hes- 
perus." The ^'Reef of Norman's Woe" is at Cape Ann, 
ten miles or so from here. About the same distance out, 
there is a group of islands, — the Isles of Shoals, which 
are a favorite resort in the summer, and getting to be 
somewhat too fashionable, for their charm is the wild- 
ness which they reveal and allow. Dressed up people 
spoil nature, somehow ; unintentionally, I suppose ; but 
the human butterflies are better in their own parterres. 
At Appledore, one of the larger of these islands, I have 
spent many happy days with the sister of our poet 
Whittier, now passed to the eternal shores, — and the 
last summer was there again, without her, alas ! I missed 
her so, even though her noble brother was there ! Perhaps 
that only recalled the lost, lovely days too vividly. I have 
seldom loved any one as I loved her. 

These islands are full of strange gorges and caverns, 
haunted with stories of pirate and ghost. The old-world 
romance seems to have floated to them. And there I first 
saw your English pimpernel. It came here with the Pil- 
grims, I suppose, as it is not a native. It is most pleasant 
to meet with these emigrant flowers. Most of them are 
carefully tended in gardens, but some are healthily natural- 
ized in the bleakest spots. I should so like to see the 
daisies — Chaucer's daisies — in their native fields; and 
the " yellow primrose," too. Neither of these grows readily 
in our gardens. I have seen them only as petted house- 
plants. 

59 



The Friendly Craft 

I recognize some of our wild flowers in your " Songs of 
Seven." By the way, Mr. Niles has sent me an illustrated 
copy of it, and what a gem it is ! But I hardly know what 
are especially ours. Have you the tiny blue four-petaled 
"Houstonia Coerulia^'? — our first flower of spring, that 
and the rock-saxifrage! And is October in England 
gladdened with the heavenly azure of the fringed gentian? 
And does the climbing bitter-sweet hang its orange- 
colored fruit high in the deep green of the pine-trees, in 
the autumn? The most wonderful climber I ever saw was 
the trumpet-vine of the West. It grew on the banks of 
the Mississippi, climbing to the top of immense primeval 
trees, bursting out, there, into great red, clarion-like 
flowers. It seems literally to fix a foot in the trees as it 
climbs, — and it has an uncivilized way of pulling the 
shingles ofl" the roofs of the houses over which it is 
trained. I am glad that violets are common property in 
the world. The prairies are blue with them. How at 
home they used to make me feel! for they are New Eng- 
land blossoms too. 

I wonder if you like the mountains as well as you do the 
sea. I am afraid I do, and better, even. It seems half 
disloyal to say so, for I was born here ; to me there is rest 
and strength, and aspiration and exultation, among the 
mountains. They are nearly a day's journey from us — 
the White Mountains — but I will go, and get a glimpse 
and a breath of their glory, once a year, always. I was at 
Winnipiseogee, a mountain-girdled lake, in New^ Hamp- 
shire, when I saw your handwriting, first, — in a letter 
which told of your having been in Switzerland. We have 
no sky-cleaving Alps, — there is a massiveness, a breadth, 
about the hill scenery here, quite unlike them, I fancy. But 
such cascades, such streams as rise in the hard granite, pure 
as liquid diamonds, and with a clear little thread of music! 

60 



Argosies of Poetry 

I usually stop at a village on the banks of the Pemige- 
wasset, a small silvery river that flows from the Notch 
Mountains, — a noble pile, that hangs like a dream, and 
flits like one too, in the cloudy air, as you follow the 
stream's winding up to the Flume, which is a strange 
grotto, cut sharply down hundreds of feet through a moun- 
tain's heart ; an immense boulder was lodged in the cleft 
when it was riven, half way down, and there it forever 
hangs, over the singing stream. The sundered rocks are 
dark with pines, and I never saw anything lovelier than 
the green light with which the grotto is flooded by the 
afternoon sun. But I must not go on about the mountains, 
or I shall never stop, — I want to say something about our 
poets, but I will not do that, either. 

Beauty drifts to us from the mother-land, across the sea, 
in argosies of poetry. How rich we are with old England's 
wealth! Our own lies yet somewhat in the ore, but I think 
we have the genuine metal. 

How true it is, as you say, that we can never utter the 
best that is in us, poets or not. And the great true 
voices are so, not so much because they can speak for 
themselves, but because they are the voices of our common 
humanity. 

The poets are but leaders in the chorus of souls, — they 
utter our paeans and our misereres^ and so we feel that they 
belong to us. It is indeed a divine gift, the power of 
drawing hearts upward through the magic of a song ; and 
the anointed ones must receive their chrism with a holy 
humility. They receive but to give again, — "more 
blessed " so. And they may also receive the gratitude of 
those they bless, to give it back to God. 

I hope you will write to me again some time, though 
I am afraid I ought not to expect it. I know what it 
is to have the day too short for the occupations which 

6i 



The Friendly Craft 

must fill it, — to say nothing of what mighty very pleas- 
antly, too. 

But I shall always be sincerely and gratefully yours, 

Lucy Larcom 

IV 

LITTLE MEN AND LITTLE WOMEN 

The heart of a boy ^cv ^::> -^^ "O^ ^::> ^s> 

(Three letters from William Hamilton Gibson) 

I 
Washington [Conn.], March i, 1863 

DEAR MOTHER: 
I received your letter for the first in three weeks and 
was as happy as a king and I am now, you may expect a 
letter from me every week. 

Only till the latter part of this month before the Exhibi- 
tion, and then comes vacation which I long for very much. 
Every Friday the boys act a drama ; the last one was 
^' Love in '76,'' and was perfectly splendid and the one 
before that was " Romance under Difficulties," and that 
was better than the last. I wish you could send me up 
some small dramas because I would like to read them. 

The principal thing among the boys is catching mice 
with little box traps, (Hke the one that Grandpa made two 
or three summers ago) which we make ourselves. One 
of the boys took some hoopskirt and made a cage to keep 
his mice in and I made two and have got four traps. The 
boy that made the first trap made the first cage and he is 
a very ingenious boy his name is Charley Howard he is a 
nice boy and is liked throughout this whole great institu- 
tion as well as the other boys too. 

62 



Cotty's Boils 

It is a very unpleasant day first in the morning it snowed 
and next it rained and now it is snowing again and looks 
as if it would snow a long while it is dark dismal and 

foggy- 

I am very sorry that Cotty has so many boils, because 
I can imagine how they feel but you must tell him he must 
try to be as patient as Job if he can. The other evening 
I touched the tip end of my nose to the stove pipe the stove 
pipe being hot burnt the tip of my nose off so now every- 
where I go I am laughed at. It don't hurt me any to be 
laughed at if they leave ray nose alone that is all I ask. 

The other day I was sliding out in the grove on the ice 
and I slipped and fell and struck on my sore knee and now 
it cracks just like it did first, only it donH hurt me so much, 
but I guess I will get over it before long. I am known in 
this school by the name of Fatty and Pussy and am so 
used to it that I take it as my own name. 

Please ask Julie and Henry if they think that they are 
big enough to read letters, and if they say yes tell them I 
will write to them you tell me in your next letter. In 
your answer let Hubie write as he did in one of your 
letters. 

And now as I have written you a long letter I will stop. 
Sending love to you all and give them all a kiss for me. 

From your aff. Willie 

P.S. Excuse bad writing as I have a sore finger. 

II 

Washington, Conn., May 21, 1864 

TAEAR MOTHER : 

^-^ I arrived here safely. Meeting Willie B. and 
Bertie B. & Mary Gunn all at Newtown in the cars. We 
had a very pleasant time coming up & Mrs. Gunn was 

63 



The Friendly Craft 

delighted with the Tulips. Everybody noticed my diamond 
pin, & I tell you what ! ! ! ! They praise it up, saying & 
asking me how much it cost ? and having me stand still, 
so that they might see it, once in a while. I Ao stand still 
& let them feast their eyes on it. Some of them ask 
me if it is glass set round with Gutta Perchaand brass. I 
always tell them " yes of course." I tell you what ! ! 
Tm proud of it and will keep it & conform to your rules. 
I wear it whenever I go to school & put the guard on 
my shirt, so if the tie should fall off it would be held on. 
I suppose you remember the blue tie that you got me. I 
wore it up from N.Y. to here, & my rough coat rubbing 
against it made it look awful, bringing out all the shoddy, 
and making it look like down all over the tie. 

When I got home I took every bit of the white stuff out 
& now all the boys think it looks a great deal prettier. 
Dear Mother I want to tell you something about that hat. 
It is one that I have had two winters, and I like it because 
it is so old. I would rather have this one than a new one, 
and the other is not fit to wear and doesn't fit me, so Henry 
may have a new one. 

Mrs. Gunn thinks that I ought to have my own old hat. 
And she is going to try and have the other one fixed up 
for Henry. 

Here I must stop, I am your affectionate Son, 

Willie 

III 

Washington, Conn., 

Dec. 6, 1864 

MY DEAR MOTHER : 
It is a very cold day, and we have just come in 
from out doors. We'all have been playing foot ball Which 
is a very exciting game. However I don't play much for 

64 



Football and Lessons 

the simple reason, that I am too short winded. A great 
many of the boys get their shins kicked, but I am very 
fortunate, for I have never got mine kicked but once and 
then I kicked it myself, when I jneant to have kicked the 
foot-ball. At all times of the recess you can look about 
the green and see certain boys hopping about holding one 
leg up, and crying. . . . 

This year I study a great many lessons, Latin, Anat- 
omy, Book-keeping, Spelling, & Arithmetic. In Latin, I 
get along nicely. It seems a great deal easier this term 
than it ever has yet. In Anatomy I get along perfectly 
splendid. I know every bone in your body and the latin 
(or Scientific) names of them all. in book-keeping I get 
along nicely. In Arithmetic I am in square root and I 
understand it perfectly. I guess that if Mr. Gunn writes 
to you, he will say that I get along very well in my studies, 
and you can tell Father so too. 

I suppose that he thinks that I idle away my time writ- 
ing letters, to be sure I do write a great many letters, but 
I donH write them until all my studies are learned, now 
this is so. And while a person is away from home he wants 
to hear from his friends. All the boys write a great many 
letters. 

Please send me some postage stamps in your letter. 

Here I must stop with love to all. 

I remain your aff. Son Willie 

Thomas Gold Appleton is "pretty well worn out" 
at school ^^:> ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^->^ ^^ ^^^ 
New Ipswich, \Z\\\July [1825?] 

MON CHER PERE : I now undertake to write you for 
the first time. I shall put it in a sort of journal, 
beginning — 

F 65 



The Friendly Craft 

Monday. — When you left me, I went into Mr. NewelPs, 
and read of the water-spout, etc., in his book of curiosities. 
After breakfast, I drew a little of that mill-view I got of 
Mr. Brown ; after which I mowed a little with my host, 
Sam, and another, but very poorly. After dinner, I helped 
them get in an exceeding large load ; going into the barn, 
my head struck, very nearly, the beams, I being on top. I 
am as yet well pleased with my host and hostess, and hope 
to be contented. 

Tuesday, — I went for the first time to-day to that den 
of tyranny a school. I recited a lesson in Sallust, and was 
pretty well worn out before I came home. This afternoon 
I stayed from school to write. 

. . . I do not think school did me much good to-day, and 
I don't want to stay there long. I long to see you and 
the rest of the family, as I am rather tired of New Ipswich. 
I remain, your 

Ever-loving son, 

T. G. Appleton 

P.S. — I hope to come home before a month is out. 

Reprinted from Hale's " Life and Letters of Thomas Gold Appleton.'* 
Copyright, 1885, by D. Appleton & Co. 

But recovers after hearing "two very affecting ser- 
mons " ^> ^;:> ^;:> ^^:> ^::> ^;:> ^^^ ^^;:> 

New Ipswich, /^^/j/ 25th [1825?] 

MY FATHER : You cannot conceive what pleasure I 
felt in reading your letter. I have been much better 
the last two days, which I am sure you will be glad to hear. 
We had two very affecting sermons yesterday by a Mr. 
Danforth : the afternoon one was a funeral sermon ; the 
text was, *^And there is no hope." He gave a very ani- 
mating description of the torments of the sinner in hell, 

66 



The Baby by the Fire 

for whom there is no hope, upon whom the dark waves of 
eternity roll, tinged with the bitter wrath of the Almighty. 
On Saturday, I had a visit from Mr. Wallace, who offered 
to lend me any books he had, and invited me to come over 
and play chess with him, and showed beaucoup de la poli- 
tesse. I read ^'The Absentee,'^ by Mrs. Edgeworth, and 
am reading " Clarentine.*" I have drawn as yet three 
pieces, one of them, for Sam, a scare-crow. The dog-days 
begin to-day, and it rains, and I feel rather dogmatic. I 
did not go to school this morning, but expect to this after- 
noon, although it rains. . . . 

Reprinted from Hale's ** Life and Letters of Thomas Gold Appleton." 
Copyright, 1885, by D. Appleton & Co. 

A fireside picture ^^ ^::y '<:^ ^^> ^^^ -^i^ -^^ 

(Ralph Waldo Emerson to his wife) 

Februaiy 19, 1838 

. . . T TERE sits Waldo beside me on the cricket, with 
-■- J- mamma's best crimson decanter-stand in his 
hand, experimenting on the powers of a cracked pitcher- 
handle to scratch and remove crimson pigment. News 
comes from the nursery that Hillman has taught him A 
and E on his cards, and that once he has called T. All 
roasted with the hot fire, he at present gives little sign of 
so much literature, but seems to be in good health, and has 
just now been singing, much in the admired style of his 
papa, as heard by you only on several occasions. . . . 

Margaret Fuller Ossoli and her baby keep Christmas 
in Florence ^^:> '^:v ^=^x ^o ^s:> ^::> ^:^ ^^^ 

[1849] 

CHRISTMAS DAY I was just up, and Nino all 
naked on his sofa, when came some beautiful 
large toys that had been sent him : a bird, a horse, a cat, 

67 



The Friendly Craft 

that could be moved to express different things. It almost 
made me cry to see the kind of fearful rapture with which he 
regarded them, — legs and arms extended, fingers and toes 
quivering, mouth made up to a Uttle round O, eyes dilated ; 
for a long time he did not even wish to touch them ; after 
he began to, he was different with all three, loving the bird, 
very wild and shouting with the horse ; with the cat, putting 
her face close to his, staring in her eyes, and then throw- 
ing her away. Afterwards I drew him in a lottery, at a 
child's party given by Mrs. Greenough, a toy of a child 
asleep on the neck of a tiger ; the tiger is stretching up to 
look at the child. This he likes best of any of his toys. 
It is sweet to see him when he gets used to them, and 
plays by himself, whispering to them, seeming to contrive 
stories. You would laugh to know how much remorse I 
feel that I never gave children more toys in the course of 
my life. I regret all the money I ever spent on myself or 
in little presents for grown people, hardened sinners. I 
did not know what pure delight could be bestowed. I am 
sure if Jesus Christ had given, it would not have been 
little crosses. 

There is snow all over Florence, in our most beautiful 
piazza. Santa Maria Novella, with its fair loggia and bridal 
church, is a carpet of snow, and the full moon looking 
down. I had forgotten how angelical all that is ; how fit 
to die by. I have only seen snow in mountain patches for 
so long. Here it is the even holy shroud of a desired 
power. God bless all good and bad to-night, and save me 
from despair. . . . 



68 



An Exigent Schedule 

Thomas Jefferson counsels his daughter Martha (aged 
eleven) ^o ^::> -<;:> ^:> ^;::> <<::> --^^ 

I. As to the improvement of her time 

Annapolis, Nov, 28th, 1783 

MY DEAR PATSY — After four days' journey, 1 ar- 
rived here without any accident, and in as good 
health as when I left Philadelphia. The conviction that you 
would be more improved in the situation I have placed you 
than if still with me, has solaced me on my parting with you, 
which my love for you has rendered a difficult thing. The 
acquirements which I hope you will make under the tutors 
I have provided for you will render you more worthy of my 
love ; and if they can not increase it, they will prevent its 
diminution. Consider the good lady who has taken you 
under her roof, who has undertaken to see that you per- 
form all your exercises, and to admonish you in all those 
wanderings from what is right or what is clever, to which 
your inexperience would expose you : consider her, I say, 
as your mother, as the only person to whom, since the loss 
with which Heaven has pleased to afflict you, you can now 
look up ; and that her displeasure or disapprobation, on 
any occasion, will be an immense misfortune, which should 
you be so unhappy as to incur by any unguarded act, think 
no concession too much to regain her good-will. With 
respect to the distribution of your time, the following is 
what I should approve : 

From 8 to 10, practice music. 

From 10 to i, dance one day and draw another. 

From I to 2, draw on the day you dance, and write 
a letter next day. 

From 3 to 4, read French. 

From 4 to 5, exercise yourself in music. 

69 



The Friendly Craft 

From 5 till bed-time, read English, write, etc. 

Communicate this plan to Mrs. Hopkinson, and if she 
approves of it, pursue it. As long as Mrs. Trist remains 
in Philadelphia, cultivate her affection. She has been 
a valuable friend to you, and her good sense and good 
heart make her valued by all whp know her, and by no- 
body on earth more than me. I expect you will write me 
by every post. Inform me what books you read, what 
times you learn, and inclose me your best copy of every 
lesson in drawing. Write also one letter a week either to 
your Aunt Eppes, your Aunt Skipwith, your Aunt Carr, 
or the little lady from whom I now inclose a letter, and 
always put the letter you so write under cover to me. 
Take care that you never spell a word wrong. Always 
before you write a word, consider how it is spelt, and, if 
you do not remember it, turn to a dictionary. It produces 
great praise to a lady to spell well. I have placed my 
happiness on seeing you good and accomplished ; and no 
distress which this world can now bring on me would 
equal that of your disappointing my hopes. If you love 
me, then strive to be good under every situation and to 
all living creatures, and to acquire those accomphshments 
which I have put in your power, and which will go far 
towards ensuring you the warmest love of your affec- 
tionate father, 

Th. Jefferson 

P.S. — Keep my letters and read them at times, that 
you may always have present in your mind those things 
which will endear you to me. 

From S. N. Randolph's " Domestic Life of Thomas Jefferson," published 
by Harper & Brothers. 



70 



I 



Not a Pin Amiss 

II. As to her dress 

Annapolis, Dec. 22d., 1783 

OMITTED in that letter to advise you on the sub- 
ject of dress, which I know you are a little apt to 
neglect. I do not wish you to be gaily clothed at this time 
of life, but that your wear should be fine of its kind. But 
above all things and at all times let your clothes be neat, 
whole, and properly put on. Do not fancy you must wear 
them till the dirt is visible to the eye. You will be the last 
one who is sensible of this. Some ladies think they may, 
under the privileges of the deshabille^ be loose and negli- 
gent of their dress in the morning. But be you, from the 
moment you rise till you go to bed, as cleanly and properly 
dressed as at the hours of dinner or tea. A lady who has 
been seen as a sloven or a slut in the morning, will never 
efface the impression she has made, with all the dress and 
pageantry she can afterwards involve herself in. Nothing 
is so disgusting to our sex as a want of cleanliness and 
delicacy in yours. I hope, therefore, the moment you rise 
from bed, your first work will be to dress yourself in such 
style, as that you may be seen by any gentleman without 
his being able to discover a pin amiss, or any other cir- 
cumstance of neatness wanting. . . . 

From S, N. Randolph's ** Domestic Life of Thomas Jefferson," published 
by Harper & Brothers. 

Aaron Burr has views on women's education ^:^ -^^i^ 
(To his wife) 
Philadelphia, 15th February, 1793 

RECEIVED with joy and astonishment, on en- 
tering the Senate this minute, your two elegant and 
affectionate letters. The mail closes in a few minutes, and 

71 



I 



The Friendly Craft 

will scarce allow me to acknowledge your goodness. The 
roads and ferries have been for some days almost impass- 
able, so that till now no post has arrived since Monday. 

It was a knowledge of your mind which first inspired 
me with a respect for that of your sex, and with some 
regret, I confess, that the ideas which you have often 
heard me express in favor of female intellectual powers 
are founded on what I have imagined, more than what I 
have seen, except in you. I have endeavored to trace the 
causes of this rare display of genius in women, and find 
them in the errors of education, of prejudice, and of habit. 
I admit that men are equally, nay more, much more to 
blame than women. Boys and girls are generally educated 
much in the same way till they are eight or nine years of 
age, and it is admitted that girls make at least equal 
progress with the boys ; generally, indeed, they make better. 
Why, then, has it never been thought worth the attempt to 
discover, by fair experiment, the particular age at which 
the male superiority becomes so evident? But this is not 
in answer to your letter ; neither is it possible now to an- 
swer it. Some parts of it I shall never answer. Your 
allusions to departed angels I think in bad taste. 

I do not like Theo.'s indolence, or the apologies which 
are made for it. Have my directions been pursued with 
regard to her Latin and geography? 

Your plan and embellishment of my mode of life are 
fanciful, are flattering, and inviting. We will endeavour to 
realize some of it. Pray continue to write, if you can do 
it with impunity. I bless Sir J., who, with the assistance 
of Heaven, has thus far restored you. 

In the course of this scrawl I have been several times 
called to vote, which must apologize to you for its 
incoherence. Adieu, 

A. Burr 
72 



An Eye of Criticism 

And puts them into practice on Theodosia '^:> ^c:y 

I 

Philadelphia, 7th /^;/?/^r)/, 1794 

WHEN your letters are written with tolerable spirit 
and correctness, I read them two or three times 
before I perceive any fault in them, being wholly engaged 
with the pleasure they afford me; but, for your sake, it is 
necessary that I should also peruse them with an eye of 
criticism. The following are the only misspelled words. 
You write acurate for accurate] laiidnam for laudammi; 
intirely for entirely; this last word, indeed, is spelled both 
ways, but entirely is the most usual and the most proper. 

Continue to use* all these words in your next letter, that 
I may see that you know the true spelling. And tell me 
what is laudanum? Where and how made ? And what 
are its effects? 

— " It was what she had long wished for, and was at a 
loss how to procure //." 

DonH you see that this sentence would have been per- 
fect and much more elegant without the last itf Mr. 
Leshlie will explain to you why. By-the-by, I took the 
liberty to erase the redundant it before I showed the letter. 

I am extremely impatient for your farther account of 
mammals health. The necessity of laudanum twice a day 
is a very disagreeable and alarming circumstance. Your 
letter was written a week ago, since which I have no 
account. I am just going to the Senate Chamber, where I 
hope to meet a journal and letter. Affectionately, 

A. Burr 



73 



I 



The Friendly Craft 

II 
Philadelphia, 17th September^ 1795 

AM sorry, very sorry that you are obliged to sub- 
mit to some reproof. Indeed, I fear that your want 
of attention and politeness, and your awkward postures, 
require it. As you appear desirous to get rid of these bad 
habits, I hope you will soon afford no room for ill-nature 
itself to find fault with you — I mean in these particulars ; 
for as to what regards your heart and motives of action, I 
know them to be good, amiable, and pure. But to return 
to the subject of manners, &c. I have often seen Madame 
at table, and other situations, pay you the utmost atten- 
tion ; offer you twenty civilities, while you appeared 
scarcely sensible that she was speaking to you ; or, at the 
most, replied with a cold remercie^ without even a look of 
satisfaction or complacency. A moment^s reflection will 
convince you that this conduct will be naturally construed 
into arrogance ; as if you thought that all attention was due 
to you, and as if you felt above showing the least to any- 
body. I know that you abhor such sentiments, and that 
you are incapable of being actuated by them. Yet you 
expose yourself to the censure without intending or know- 
ing it. I believe you will in future avoid it. Observe how 
Natalie replies to the smallest civility which is offered to 
her. 

Your habit of stooping and bringing your shoulders 
forward on to your breast not only disfigures you, but is 
alarming on account of the injury to your health. The 
continuance in this vile habit will certainly produce a con- 
sumption : then farewell papa ; farewell pleasure ; farewell 
life ! This is no exaggeration ; no fiction to excite your 
apprehensions. But, setting aside this distressing con- 
sideration, I am astonished that you have no more pride ia 

74 



Grave Pages 

your appearance. You will certainly stint your growth and 
disfigure your person. 

Receive with calmness every reproof, whether made 
kindly or unkindly; whether just or unjust. Consider 
within yourself whether there has been no cause for it. 
If it has been groundless and unjust, nevertheless bear it 
with composure, and even wdth complacency. Remember 
that one in the situation of Madame has a thousand things 
to fret the temper ; and you know that one out of humour, 
for any cause whatever, is apt to vent it on every person 
that happens to be in the way. We must learn to bear 
these things ; and, let me tell you, that you will always feel 
much better, much happier, for having borne with serenity 
the spleen of any one, than if you had returned spleen for 
spleen. 

You will, I am sure, my dear Theodosia, pardon two such 
grave pages from one who loves you, and whose happiness 
depends very much on yours. Read it over twice. Make 
me no promises on the subject. On my return, I shall see 
in half an hour whether what I have written has been well 
or ill received. If well, it will have produced an effect. 

. . . Having many letters to answer by this mail, I can- 
not add anything sprightly to this dull letter. One dull 
thing you will hear me repeat without disgust, that 
I am your affectionate friend, 

A. Burr 

The puzzling questions of curriculum in a Select 
Female Seminary ^;^ ^:> -^^^ ^:^ -^c:^ 

Medford, May 12, 1797 

HONORED PARENTS, 
With pleasure I sit down to the best of parents 
to inform them of my situation, as doubtless they are 

75 



The Friendly Craft 

anxious to hear, — permit me to tell them something of 
my foolish heart. When I first came here I gave miyself 
up to reflection, but not pleasing reflections. When Mr. 
Boyd left me I burst into tears and instead of trying to 
calm my feelings I tried to feel worse. I begin to feel 
happier and will soon gather up all my Philosophy and 
think of the duty that now attends me, to think that here 
I may drink freely of the fountain of knowledge, but I will 
not dwell any longer on this subject. I am not doing 
anything but writing, reading, and cyphering. There is a 
French Master coming next Monday, and he will teach 
French and Dancing. William Boyd and Mr. Wyman 
advise me to learn French, yet if I do at all I wish you to 
write me very soon what you think best, for the school 
begins on Monday. Mr. Wyman says it will not take up 
but a very little of my time, for it is but two days in the 
week, and the lessons only 2 hours long. Mr. Wyman 
says I must learn Geometry before Geography, and that I 
better not begin it till I have got through my Cyphering. 
We get up early in the morning and make our beds and 
sweep the chamber, it is a chamber about as large as our 
kitchen chamber, and a little better finished. There's 4 
beds in the chamber, and two persons in each bed, we 
have chocolate for breakfast and supper. 

Your affectionate Daughter 

Eliza Southgate 

Rufus Choate misses his boy ^:> ^:^ ^^> ^^^ 

MY DEAR RUFUS, — Your mother and dear 
sisters have you so far away, that I want to put 
my own arm around your nec*k, and having whispered a 
little in your ear, give you a kiss. I hope, first, that you 
are good ; and next that you are well and studious, and 
among the best scholars. If that is so, I am willing you 

76 



Motherly Counsel 

should play every day, after, or out of, school, till the 
blood is ready to burst from your cheeks. There is a 
place or two, according to my recollections of your time of 
life, in the lane, where real, good, solid satisfaction, in the 
way of play, may be had. But I do earnestly hope to hear 
a good account of your books and progress when I get 

home. Love cousin M , and all your school and 

playmates, and love the studies which will make you wise, 
useful, and happy, when there shall be no blood at all to 
be seen in your cheeks or lips. 

Your explanation of the greater warmth of w^eather here 
than at Essex, is all right. Give me the sun of Essex, 
however, I say, for all this. One half hour, tell grand- 
mother, under those cherished buttonwoods, is worth a 
month under these insufferable fervors. ... I hope I 
shall get home in a month. Be busy, affectionate, 
obedient, my dear, only boy. Your father, 

RuFus Choate 

Mrs. Gibbons sends love, advice, and money to her 
son '<:^ ^;:> ^;:> '*^::^ ^:> ^^^ ^:^ 

New York, ^th mo. 12, 1855 

MY EVER DEAR WILL, 
I have only time to say, this busy Anniversary 
week, — look after thy heart and do not lose it down 
East ; do not let any ruffian throw thee over the Long 
Bridge ; do not grow conservative ; take care of thy eyes ; 
go to bed early ; wash thy lungs out in the morning with 
fresh, balmy air ; inhale the fragrance of May's sweet 
flowers, and love us all always. 

With the pure gold of warmest affection, and a soiled 
banknote, ever. 

Thy devoted, adoring Mother 

n 



The Friendly Craft 

No lovelorn lassie will love thee with all her love, as 1 
do, my pride and blessing, my own and only son. May 
we both live always! 

The unprejudiced opinions of a grandmother ^^:> >v^ 
(Mrs. Benjamin Franklin to her husband, Oct. 29, 1773) 

MY DEAR CHILD, — I have bin verey much distrest 
aboute you as I did not aney letter nor one word 
from you nor did I hear one word from aney bodey that 
you wrote to so I must submit and inde to submit to what 
I am to bair I did write by Capt. Folkner to you but he 
is gon down and when I read it over I did not like t and 
so if this donte send it I shante like it as I dont send you 
aney news now I donte go abrode. 

I shall tell you what Consernes my selef our youngest 
Grand son is the forced child as a live he has had the 
Small Pox and had it very fine and got abrod a gen. 
Capt. All will tell you aboute him and Benj. Franklin 
Beache, but as it is so dificall to writ I have deserd him 
to tell you. ... I am to tell a verey pritey thing about 
Ben the Players is cume to town and they am to ackte on 
Munday he wanted to see a play he unkill Beache had 
given him a doler his mama asked him wather he wold 
give it for a ticket, or buy his Brother a neckles he sed 
his Brother a neckles he is a charmm child as ever was 
Borne my Grand cheldren are the Best in the world 
Salley will write I cante write aney mor I am your a 

feckshone wife. 

D. Franklin 



78 



The Bouquet of Life 

The advantages of being a grandfather ^y ^s:> ^v:> 
(James Russell Lowell to Edwin Lawrence Godkin) 

Elmwood, iGthJuly^ 1874 
S for my grandson, he is a noble fellow and does 



A^ 



me great credit. Such is human nature that I find 
myself skipping the intermediate generation (which certainly 
in some obscure way contributed to his begetting, as I am 
ready to admit when modestly argued) and looking upon 
him as the authentic result of my own loins. I am going 
to Southborough to-day on a visit to him, for I miss him 
woundily. If you wish to taste the real bo7iquet of life, I 
advise you to procure a grandson, whether by adoption or 
theft. The cases of child-stealing one reads of in the 
newspapers now and then may all, I am satisfied, be 
traced to this natural and healthy instinct. A grandson 
is one of the necessities of middle hfe and may be inno- 
cently purloined (or taken by right of eminent domain) on 
the tabula in naufragio principle. Get one^ and the 
Nation will no longer oifend any body. . . . 

Dr. Channing has doubts about child study ^;^ ^o 
(To Miss Elizabeth Peabody) 
INTENDED to write you a long letter, but my 



I 



house is full of friends, who leave me no leisure. I 
thank you for your " Record/' which I read with great pleas- 
ure. I have still doubts ; but the end sought is the true one, 
and I earnestly desire that the experiment should be made. 
I want proof that the minds of children really act on 
the subject of conversation, that their deep consciousness 
is stirred. Next, I want light as to the degree to which 
the mind of the child should be turned inward. The 
free development of the spiritual nature may be impeded 

79 



The Friendly Craft 

by too much analysis of it. The soul is somewhat jealous 
of being watched ; and it is no small part of wisdom to 
know when to leave it to its impulses and when to 
restrain it. The strong passion of the young for the 
outward is an indication of nature to be respected. Spir- 
ituality may be too exclusive for its own good. . . . 

Such as sit in darkness <^ <:> <^ ^> ^:> 

I 
(Laura Bridgman to Samuel Gridley Howe) 

Twenty-eight of January [1844] 

MY VERY DEAR DR. HOWE : 
What can I first say to God when I am wrong? 
Would he send me good thoughts & forgive me when I 
am ver}' sad for doing wrong? Why does he not love 
wrong people, if they love Him? Would he be very happy 
to have me think of Him ^S: Heaven very often? Do you 
remember that you said I must tliink of God 6c Heaven? 
I want you to please to answer me to please me. I have 
learned about great many things to please you very 
much. Mrs. Harrington has got new little baby eight 
days last Saturday. God was very generous & kind to 
give babies to many people. Miss Rogers' mother has 
got baby two months ago. I want to see you ver}' much. 
I send much love to you. Is God ever ashamed? I think 
of God very often to love Him. Why did you say that I 
must think of God? You must answer me all about it, if 
you do not I shall be sad. Shall we know what to ask 
God to do? When will He let us go to see him in 
Heaven? How did God tell people that he lived in 
Heaven? How could he take care of folks in Heaven? 
Why is He our Father? Why cannot He let wrong peo- 
ple to go to live with Him & be happv? Why should He 

80 



The Spirit of Love 

not like to have us ask Him to send us good thoughts if 
we are not very sad for doing wrong ? . . . 

II 
(Dr. Howe to Laura Bridgman) 

MY DEAR LITTLE LAURA; — Mrs. Howe has a 
sweet little baby; it is a little girl. We shall 
call her Julia. She is very smooth, and soft, and nice ; 
she does not cry much, and we love her very, very much. 
You love her too, I think, do you not? But you never 
felt of her, and she never kissed you, and how can you 
love her? It is not your hands, nor your body, nor your 
head, which loves her and loves me, but your soul. If 
your hand were to be cut off, you would love me the same ; 
so it is not the body which loves. Nobody knows what 
the soul is, but we know that it is not the body, and cannot 
be hurt like the body ; and when the body dies the soul 
cannot die. You ask me in your letter a great many things 
about the soul, and about God ; but, my dear little girl, it 
would take very much time and very many sheets of paper 
to tell you all I think about it, and I am very busy with 
taking care of my dear wife ; but I shall try to tell you a 
little, and you must wait until I come home, in June, and 
we will talk very much about all these things. You have 
been angry a few times, and you have known others to be 
angry, and you know what I mean by anger ; you love me 
and many friends, and you know what I mean by love. 
When I say there is a spirit of love in the world, I mean 
that good people love each other ; but you cannot feel the 
spirit of love with your fingers, it has no shape nor body ; 
it is not in one place more than another, yet wherever 
there are good people there is a spirit of love. God is a 
spirit; the spirit of love. If you go into a house, and the 
children tell you that their father whips them, and will 

G 81 



The Friendly Craft 

not feed them ; if the house is cold and dirty, and every- 
body is sad and frightened, because the father is bad, and 
angry, and cruel, you will know that the father has no 
spirit of love. You never felt of him, you never had him 
strike you, you do not know what man he is, and yet you 
know that he has not the spirit of love, — that is, he is 
not a good, kind father. If you go into another house, 
and the children are all warm, and well fed, and well 
taught, and are very happy, and everybody tells you that 
the father did all this, and made them happy, then you 
know he has the spirit of love. You never saw him, and 
yet you know certainly that he is good ; and you may say 
that the spirit of love reigns in that house. Now, my dear 
child, I go all about in this great world, and I see it filled 
with beautiful things ; and there are a great many millions 
of people, and there is food for them, and fire for them, 
and clothes for them, and they can be happy if they have a 
mind to be, and if they will love each other. All this world, 
and all these people, and all the animals, and all things, 
were made by God. He is not a man, nor like a man ; I 
cannot see Him nor feel Him, any more than you saw and 
felt the good father of that family ; but I know that He 
has the spirit of love, because He, too, provided everything 
to make all the people happy. God wants everybody to 
be happy all the time, — every day, Sundays and all, and 
to love one another ; and if they love one another they 
will be happy ; and when their bodies die, their souls will 
live on and be happy, and then they will know more about 
God. 

The good father of the family I spoke to you about, let 
his children do as they wished to do, because he loved to 
have them free ; but he let them know that he wished 
them to love each other, and to do good ; and if they 
obeyed his will they were happy ; but if they did not love 

82 



The Secret of Happiness 

each other, or if they did any wrong, they were unhappy ; 
and if one child did wrong it made the others unhappy 
too. So in the great world. God left men, and women^ 
and children, to do as they wish, and let them know if 
they love one another, and do good, they will be happy ; 
but if they do wrong they will be unhappy, and make 
others unhappy likewise. 

I will try to tell you why people have pain sometimes, 
and are sick and die ; but I cannot take so much time and 
paper now. But you must be sure that God loves you, 
and loves everybody, and wants you and everybody to be 
happy ; and if you love everybody, and do them all the 
good you can, and try to make them happy, you will be 
very happy yourself, and will be much happier after your 
body dies than you are now. 

Dear little Laura, I love you very much. I want you to 
be happy and good. I want you to know many things ; 
but you must be patient, and learn easy things first, and 
hard ones afterwards. When you were a little baby you 
could not walk, and you learned first to creep on your 
hands and knees, and then to walk a little, and by and by 
you grew strong, and walked much. It would be wrong 
for a little child to want to walk very far before it was 
strong. Your mind is young and weak, and cannot under- 
stand hard things ; but by and by it will be stronger, and 
you will be able to understand hard things ; and I and my 
wife will help Miss Swift to show you all about things that 
now you do not know. Be patient, then, dear Laura ; 
be obedient to your teacher, and to those older than you ; 
love everybody, and do not be afraid. 

Good-bye. I shall come soon, and we will talk and be 
happy. 

Your true friend, 



Doctor 



83 



M 



The Friendly Craft 
III 

(Phillips Brooks to Helen Keller) 

London, August 3, 1890 

Y DEAR HELEN — I was very glad indeed to get 
your letter. It has followed me across the ocean 
and found me in this magnificent great city which I should 
like to tell you all about if I could take time for it and 
make my letter long enough. Some time when you come 
and see me in my study in Boston I shall be glad to talk 
to you about it all if you care to hear. 

But now I want to tell you how glad I am that you are 
so happy and enjoying your home so very much. I can 
almost think I see you with your father and mother and 
little sister, with all the brightness of the beautiful country 
about you, and it makes me very glad to know how glad 
you are. 

I am glad also to know, from the questions which you 
ask me, what you are thinking about. I do not see how 
we can help thinking about God when He is so good to us 
all the time. Let me tell you how it seems to me that we 
come to know about our heavenly Father. It is from the 
power of love which is in our own hearts. Love is at the 
soul of everything. Whatever has not the power of lov- 
ing must have a very dreary life indeed. We like to think 
that the sunshine and the winds and the trees are able to 
love in some way of their own, for it would make us know 
that they were happy if we knew that they could love. 
And so God who is the greatest and happiest of all beings 
is the most loving too. All the love that is in our hearts 
comes from Him, as all the hght which is in the flowers 
comes from the sun. And the more we love the more 
near we are to God and His Love. 

84 



Love is Everything 

I told you that I was very happy because of your happi- 
ness. Indeed I am. So are your Father and your Mother 
and your Teacher and all your friends. But do you not 
think that God is happy too because you are happy ? I 
am sure He is. And He is happier than any of us because 
He is greater than any of us, and also because He not 
merely sees your happiness as we do, but He also made it. 
He gives it to you as the sun gives light and color to the 
rose. And we are always most glad of what we not 
merely see our friends enjoy, but of what we give them to 
enjoy. Are we not ? 

But God does not only want us to be happy ; He wants 
us to be good. He wants that most of all. He knows 
that we can be really happy only when we are good. A 
great deal of the trouble that is in the world is medicine 
which is very bad to take, but which it is good to take be- 
cause it makes us better. We see how good people may 
be in great trouble when we think of Jesus who was the 
greatest sufferer that ever lived and yet was the best Being 
and so, T am sure, the happiest Being that the world has 
ever seen. 

I love to tell you about God. But He will tell you Him- 
self by the love which He will put into your heart if you 
ask Him. And Jesus, who is His Son, but is nearer to 
Him than all of His other Children, came into the world 
on purpose to tell us all about our Father^s Love. If you 
read His words, you will see how full His heart is of the 
love of God. "We know that He loves us," He says. 
And so He loved men Himself and though they were very 
cruel to Him and at last killed Him, He was willing to 
die for them because He loved them so. And, Helen, 
He loves men still, and He loves us, and He tells us that 
we may love Him. 

And so love is everything. And if anybody asks you, 

8s 



The Friendly Craft 



or if you ask yourself what God is, answer, " God is 
Love." That is the beautiful answer which the Bible 
gives. 

All this is what you are to think of and to understand 
more and more as you grow older. Think of it now, and 
let it make every blessing brighter because your dear 
Father sends it to you. 

You will come back to Boston I hope soon after I do. 
I shall be there by the middle of September. I shall want 
you to tell me all about everything, and not forget the 
Donkey. 

I send my kind remembrance to your father and mother, 
and to your teacher. I wish I could see your little sister. 

Good Bye, dear Helen. Do write to me soon again, 
directing your letter to Boston. 

Your affectionate friend 

Phillips Brooks 

V 

STUDENTS* TALES 

Increase Mather considers Harvard College too small 
a field for labor ^^^ -^^^^ ^^^ ^;:> '<:^ 

(^'To the Honorable WiHiam Stoughton, Esqr., Lieut. 
Governour of the Province of Massachusetts Bay ") 

HONOURABLE SIR, 
I promised the worthy Gentlemen who acquainted 
me with the Proposal of the General Court concerning the 
removal of my Habitation from Boston to Cambridge, that I 
would return my Answer to your Honour. In the first place 
I give my humble Thanks, as to the General Assembly, so, 
in a special maner, to the honourable Council, and to your 

86 



1500 Souls vs, 50 Children 

Honor in a most peculiar maner, for the Respect in this 
Motion manifested. Nevertheless, as to the thing pro- 
posed, I do not see my way clear. As to the Salary, I 
make no objection, although it is considerably less than 
what I have in Boston, through the Love and bounty of 
the people amongst whom God hath fixed my present 
abode. But the objections which are of weight with 
me are these ; — i . If I comply with what is desired, I 
shall be taken off, in a great measure at least, from my 
publick Ministry. Should I leave preaching to 1500 souls 
(for I supose that so many use ordinarily to attend in our 
Congregation) only to expound to 40 or 50 Children, few of 
them capable of Edification by such Exercises ; I doubt I 
should not do well. I desire (as long as the Lord shall en- 
able me) to preach publickly every Lord's Day. And I 
think all the Gold in the East and West-Indies would not 
tempt me to leave preaching the Unsearchable Riches of 
Christ ; which several of the Presidents of the Colledge 
were necessitated to desist from, because of their other 
work. 

2. I am now (through the patience of God) grown into 
years, wanting but half a year of 60, and of a weak and 
tender Constitution of Body, not well able to endure 
the Hardships of the Presidentship. A younger and a 
stronger man would do better. Invalidce vires ingeniujn 
7nihi. 

3. I have laboured much both in New-England, and in 
England to obtain a hapy settlement of the Colledge. 
Should I at last go thither myself, the World would say, 
(as I hear some do say) that I sought my self in all those 
Endeavours. Such Reproaches will, by a Resignation of my 
Relation to that Society, be for ever put to Silence. One 
reason of my retaining my Relation to the Colledge thus 
long, has been because it was thought, that would facilitate 

87 



The Friendly Craft 



its Charter-Settlement. Could I see that done, I should 
with great joy give way to another President. 

4. I am satisfied that the Church to which I stand re- 
lated, will not set me at hberty. Many of them say that 
God has made me their Spiritual Father ; and how can they 
consent that I should go from them ? Besides, they well 
know that I have had a strong Bent of Spirit to spend (and 
to end) the remainder of my few days in England ; and 
that the thing that keeps me here, now the Gospel has a 
free passage there, is my Love to them : for which cause 
they will not consent to my being discharged of my Oifice- 
Relation, without which I must not remove to the Colledge. 
For it is not fit that I should retain an Office without 
Discharging the Duties of that Ofiice. 

I neither will, nor have I obstructed the settlement of the 
Colledge in a better hand. I have often (as your Honour 
well knows) desired to resign my Relation to that Society. 
And if it will not be grevious to you, I shall to-morrow 
(If you please) deliver a Resignation of the Presidentship 
to the Senior Fellow of the Corporation, for him to call a 
Corporation-Meeting in order to the chusing another Presi- 
dent. And let the Corporation doe as they would doe if I 
were out 6f the World. Thus, sir, have I taken the free- 
dom to acquaint you with my present Inclinations, and 
with the Reasons thereof, which I cannot answer. Could I 
see them well answered to my own satisfaction i^but of 
that I despair) I should be capable of changing my mind. 
Until then, and ever, I remain 

Honourable Sir, 

Yours to Serve 

Increase Mather 

Decemb^ 16, 1698. 



88 



The Rising Bell 

The rules and routine of Nassau Hall ^^> ^;^ ^;:^ 
Written at Nassau Hall, in Princeton Novem: 30*^ 

Anno 1770 

VERY DEAR FATHER. 
Altho' I am very busy seeing I begin to study three 
Weeks later than the rest of our Class, yet I think it my 
Duty to give you Notice of my Admission to this flourish- 
ing Seininary of Learning ; which is another grand Step 
towards the Summit of my Wishes ; And I shall also men- 
tion as many of the Customs, as my short Acquaintance 
with the College & Students will allow me, & as any thing 
new occurs shall not fail at any time to transmit it. 

Mr. Hunter and myself, were admitted into the junior- 
Class on the twenty second day of November, after a 
previous Examination by the president, Tutors, & some 
residing Graduates ; Which was about three Weeks after 
the College-Orders began. 

The Rules by which the Sholars & Students are di- 
rected, are, in my Opinion, exceedingly well formed to 
check & restrain the vicious, & to assist the studious, & 
to countenance & incourage the virtuous. , 

Every Student must rise in the Morning, at farthest by 
half an hour after five ; the grammar Schollars being most 
of them small, & lodging also in Town at some Distance 
from the College, are, in Winter, excused from attending 
morning Prayrs. 

The Bell rings at five, after which there is an Intermis- 
sion of half an hour, that everyone may have time to 
dress, at the end of which it rings again, & Prayrs begin ; 
And lest any should plead that he did not hear the Bell, 
the Servant who rings, goes to every Door & beats till 
he wakens the Boys, which leaves them without Excuse. 

There are Bill-keepers in each Class, appointed gen- 

89 



The Friendly Craft 

erally by the President, or in his absence by one of the 
Tutors, who take Notice, & set down those who are absent 
from Morning or evening Prayrs, & once every week pre- 
sent their Bill to the Doctor^ or one of the Tutors, who 
call each delinquent, & demand their Excuse, which if it 
is thought sufficeant is accepted, if not they are fined, or 
privately admonished, & if the same person is found fre- 
quently guilty, without good reason, he receives public 
Admonition in the Hall for Contempt of Authority. 

After morning Prayrs, we can, now in the Winter, study 
an hour by candle Light every Morning. 

We breakfast at eight ; from Eight to nine, is time of 
our own, to play, or exercise. 

At nine the Bell rings for Recitation, after which we 
study till one, when the Bell rings for Dinner — We dine 
all in the same Room, at three Tables, & so we breakfast 
and sup : 

After dinner till three we have Liberty to go out at Pleasure. 

From three tiP five we study, when the Bell rings for 
evening Prayrs. 

We sup at seven ; At nine the Bell rings for Study ; 
And a Tutor goes through College, to see that every Stu- 
dent is in his own Room ; if he finds that any are absent, 
or more in any Room than belongs there, he notes them 
down, & the day following calls them to an Account. 

After nine any may go to bed, but to go before is re- 
proachful. 

No student is allowed, on any pretence, Sickness only 
excepted, to be absent on Sunday, from public Worship : 
We have two Sermons every Sabbath : One at eleven in 
the morning, in the Church ; & the other at three in the 
Afternoon, in the College Hall. I am indeed much pleased 
with Dr. Witherspoon & think his Sermons almost inimi- 
table. 

90 



Sabbath Evening Meetings 

We rise on Sabbath mornings & have Prayrs as usual. 

There is a Society that meets every Sabbath Evening at 
six o Clock, for religious Worship ; this is a voluntary 
Society made up of any who belong to the College, & 
choose to attend. 

The Exercises in this Society go in the alphabetical 
Order of those who are willing to perform : They sing a 
Psalm & pray, after which a Tutor reads a Sermon & 
dismisses them. 

About seven the supper Bell rings, immediately after 
which, each Class meets separately in Rooms belonging to 
one of themselves ; The Seniors alone meet in a Room 
belonging to one of the Seniors ; & the Juniors by them- 
selves meet in a Room belonging to one of themselves ; & 
in like manner do the inferior Classes. And one in each 
Class, as his Name comes in alphabetical Order, gives out 
a Psalm to be sung, & prays ; after which they disperse, & 
retire to their respective Rooms. 

I make use of the word "their" not because I do not 
join with my fellow-Students in these Acts of Worship, but 
because I seem only yet to be an Observer of their Manners. 

There are upwards of an hundred now in the College 
including the grammar Scholars : The present Senior 
Class consists of Ten : the Junior of twenty-eight : The 
Sophimore of twenty five : And the Freshman of eighteen : 
In the School there are about twenty-five. 

I am, through divine goodness, very well, & more rec- 
onciled to rising in the Morning so early than at first. 

Andrew is not yet come. I fear he has concluded to 
stay at home. 

Please to accept my humble, & sincere Regard ; & give 
my kindest Love to my ever-dear Ma7ii7na. 

From, Sir, your dutiful Son 

P. FiTHIAN 

91 



The Friendly Craft 

Philip Fithian discloses the " Shameful, mean, un- 
manly Conduct '^ of sundry students ■-n:^ ^::^ -^^^ 

Written at Princeton, Jan. 13, Anno 1772 

VERY DEAR, & MUCH RESPECTED FATHER, 
Through the distinguished Kindness of Heaven, 
I am in good Health, &have much Cause to be delighted 
with my Lot. I would not change my Condition nor 
give up the Prospect I have before me, on any Terms 
almost whatever. 

I am not much hurried this Winter with my Studies ; 
but I am trying to advance myself in an Acquaintance 
with my fellow-Creatures, & with the Labours of the 
"Mighty Dead." 

I am sorry that 1 may inform you, that two of our 
Members were expelled from the College yesterday ; not for 
Drunkenness, nor Fighting, not for Swearing, nor Sabbath- 
Breaking. But, they were sent from this Seminary, where 
the greatest Pains and Care are taken to cultivate and 
encourage Decency^ & Hoiiesty^ & Honour^ for stealing 
Hens I Shameful, mean, unmanly Conduct! 

If a Person were to judge of the generality of Students, 
by the Conduct of such earth-born, insatiate Helluo's ; 
or by the detested Character of wicked Individuals, (which 
is generally soonest & most extensively propagated & 
known abroad,) how terrible an Idea must he have! 

Please to remember my kind Regards to my Brothers ; 
Sister Becka, and the whole Family. I feel my Heart 
warm with Esteem for them ! but can only further, at 
present, write myself, dear Father, Yours, 

P. Fithian 



92 



The President's Pears 

William H. Prescott eats pears and appears very well 
while being examined ^;^ -^^^ -s:> ^^ -^^r^ --n:^ 

Boston, Aug. 23, [181 1] 

DEAR FATHER, 
I now write you a few lines to inform you of my 
fate. Yesterday at eight o'clock I was ordered to the 
President's, and there, together with a Carolinian, Mid- 
dleton, was examined for Sophomore. When we w^ere 
first ushered into their presence, they looked like so many 
judges of the Inquisition. We were ordered down into 
the parlor, almost frightened out of our wits, to be 
examined by each separately ; but we soon found them 
quite a pleasant sort of chaps. The President [Dr. Kirk- 
land] sent us down a good dish of pears, and treated us 
very much like gentlemen. It was not ended in the 
morning ; but we returned in the afternoon, when Profes- 
sor Ware examined us in Grotius de Veritate. We found 
him very good-natured, for I happened to ask him a 
question in theology, which made him laugh so that he 
was obliged to cover his face with his hands. At half 
past three our fate was decided, and we were declared 
" Sophomores of Harvard University." 

As you would like to know how I appeared, I will give 
you the conversation, verbatim^ with Mr. Frisbie, when 
I went to see him after the examination. I asked him, 
" Did I appear well in my examination ? " Answer. " Yes." 
Question. "Did I appear very well. Sir?'' Answer. 
"Why are you so particular, young man? Yes, you did 
yourself a great deal of credit." 

I feel to-day twenty pounds lighter than I did yesterday. 
I shall dine at Mr. Gardiner's. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner 
both say that on me depends William's going to college 
or not. If I behave well, he will go ; if not, that he 

93 



The Friendly Craft 

certainly shall not go. Mr. W. P. Mason has asked me 
to dine with him on Commencement Day, as he gives 
a dinner. I believe I shall go. As I had but little time, 
I thought it best to tell a long story, and write it badly, 
rather than a short one written well. I have been to see 

Mr. H this morning; — no news. Remember me 

to your fellow-travellers, C, & M., &c., &c. Love to 
mother, whose affectionate son I remain, 

Wm. Hickling Prescott 

The strenuous life of a Harvard law student extolled 
by Francis Parkman ^i^y ^^ ^;^ ^:::y ^;::> 

(To George B. Gary) 

Gambridge, Dec. 15, '44 

DEAR GEORGE, — Here am I, down in Divinity 
Hall ( !) enjoying to my heart's content that otiu77t cu7n 
digftitate which you so affectionately admire ; while you, 
poor devil, are being jolted in English coaches, or suffering 
the cramp in both legs on the banquette of a French 
diligence. Do you not envy me in my literary ease ? — 
a sea-coal fire — a dressing-gown — slippers — a favorite 
author ; all set off by an occasional bottle of champagne, 
or a bowl of stewed oysters at Washburn's ? This is the 
cream of existence. To lay abed in the morning, till the 
sun has half melted away the trees and castles on the 
window-panes, and Nigger Lewis's fire is almost burnt out, 
listening meanwhile to the steps of the starved Divinities 
as they rush shivering and panting to their prayers and 
recitations — then to get up to a fashionable breakfast at 
eleven — then go to lecture — find it a little too late, and 
adjourn to Joe Peabody's room, for a novel, conversation, 
and a morning glass of madeira — while you are puckering 
your lips over bad vin ordinaire in a splendid cafe, and 

94 



Ambition is a Humbug 

screaming garqon in vain hope of relief. If I am not 
mistaken, George, this is leading a happier life, by your 
own showing, than to be encountering the hard knocks and 
vexations of a traveller's existence. After all, man was 
made to be happy ; ambition is a humbug — a dream of 
youth ; and exertion another ; leave those to Freshmen 
and divinities. I think the morbid tendency to unnecessary 
action passes away as manhood comes on ; at any rate, I 
have never been half so quiescent as since I was qualified 
to vote against Polk and Dallas. 

. . . And now, what are you doing; a cup of coffee 
at Very's, perhaps ; then a lounge, quizzing glass at eye, in 
the Louvre, followed by a ditto on the Italian Boulevard, 
and a fifty-franc dinner at the Trois Freres. What 
supplement shall I add to this ? You will not be sorry, I 
dare say, to hear a word of some brethren of your nodes 
ambrosiancB^ though I imagine those nodes do not now 
appear very ambrosial on the retrospect. Hale vibrates 
between Law and Gospel. I fear the chances are a little 
in favor of the Devil. 

Snow is established in Graduates' Hall, with two pianos, 
Shelley, and a half-cask of ale. He now and then appears 
at the one o'clock lecture, rubbing his eyes and gaping. 
Clarke is here, taking boxing lessons. Ned is in town, a 
counter-jumper by day, and a literary character by night ; 
on the way to make a very sensible and accomplished man. 
Perry has been htintmg deer and killing partridges, and 
would fain persuade a quiet fellow like me to leave Cam- 
bridge and join him ; but I preferred a pleasant fireside. 
Old Treadwell is splashing about in the muddy waters of 
politics and law. Our brothers, whilom of XX, accused 
me in the beginning of the term of an intention of author- 
ship ! probably taking the hint from the circumstance of 
my never appearing till eleven o'clock, a la Scott ; but I 

95 



The Friendly Craft 

believe they no longer suspect me of so ill advised an 
intention. It would run a little counter to my present 
principles, though I do remember the time when G. B. C. 

meditated the Baron of B ; and Snow felt sure (in his 

cups) of being Captain General of Transatlantic literature, 
while your humble servant's less soaring ambition aspired 
to the manufacture of blood and thunder chronicles of 
Indian squabbles and massacres. . . . You will answer this, 
will you not? I am very eager to hear from you. 

Yours truly, 

F. Parkman 

Ulysses Grant likes West Point in spite of draw- 
backs ^^:> ^Qy ^;:> ^:^ ^;:> ^^ ^=;^ '<o 

Military Academy, West Point, N.Y., 

September 22^ 1839 

DEAR COZ : I was just thinking that you would be 
right glad to hear from one of your relations who is so 
far away as I am. So I have put away my algebra and 
French, and am going to tell you a long story about this 
prettiest of places. West Point. So far as it regards 
natural attractions it is decidedly the most beautiful place 
that I have ever seen. Here are hills and dales, rocks and 
rivers ; all pleasant to look upon. From the window near 
I can see the Hudson — that far-famed, that beautiful 
river, with its bosom studded with hundreds of snowy 
sails. 

Again, I look another way I can see Fort Putt, now 
frowning far above, a stern monument of a sterner age, 
which seems placed there on purpose to tell us of the 
glorious deeds of our fathers, and to bid us to remember 
their sufferings — to follow their example. 

96 



Sounds Very Nice " 

In short, this is the best of places — the place of all 
PLACES for an institution like this. I have not told you 
HALF its attractions. Here is the house Washington used 
to live in — there Kosisuscko used to walk and think of 
HIS country and ours. Over the river we are shown the 
dwelling-house of Arnold — that base and heartless 
traitor to his country and his God. I do love the place 
— it seems as though I could live here forever, if my 
friends would only come too. You might search the 
wide world over and then not find a better. Now all this 
sounds nice, very nice ; what a happy fellow you are, but 
I am not one to show false colors, or the brightest side of 
the picture, so I will tell you about some of the drawbacks. 
First, I slept for two months upon one single pair of 
blankets. Now this sounds romantic, and you may think 
it very easy ; but I tell you what, Coz, it is tremendous 
hard. 

Suppose you try it, by way of experiment, for a night or 
two. I am pretty sure that you would be perfectly satisfied 
that it is no easy matter ; but glad am I these things are 
over. We are now in our quarters. I have a splendid 
bed (mattress) and get along very well. Our pay is 
nominally about twenty-eight dollars a month, but we 
never see one cent of it. If we wish anything, from a 
shoe-string to a coat, we must go to the commandant of 
the post and get an order for it, or we cannot have it. 
We have tremendous long and hard lessons to get, in both 
French and algebra. I study hard and hope to get along 
so as to pass the examination in January. This examina- 
tion is a hard one, they say ; but I am not frightened yet. 
If I am successful here you will not see me for two long 
years. It seems a long while to me, but time passes off 
very fast. It seems but a few days since I came here. It 
is because every hour has its duty, which must be per- 
H 97 



* The Friendly Craft 

formed. On the whole I like the place very much — so 
much that I would not go away on any account. The fact 
is, if a man graduates here, he is safe for life, let him go 
where he will. There is much to dislike, but more to like. 
I mean to study hard and stay if it be possible ; if I cannot, 
very well, the world is wide. I have now been here about 
four months, and have not seen a single familiar face or 
spoken to a single lady. I wish some of the pretty girls of 
Bethel were here, just so I might look at them. But 
fudge! confound the girls. I have seen great men, plenty 
of them. Let us see : General Scott, Mr. Van Buren, 
Secretary of War and Navy, Washington Irving, and lots 
of other big bugs. If I were to come home now with my uni- 
form on, the way you would laugh at my appearance would 
be curious. My pants set as tight to my skin as the bark 
to tree, and if I do not walk military, — that is, if I bend 
over quickly or run, — they are apt to crack with a report 
as loud as a pistol. My coat must always be buttoned up 
tight to the chin. It is made of sheep's gray cloth, all 
covered with big round buttons. It makes one look very 
singular. If you were to see me at a distance, the first 
question you would ask would be, " Is that a fish or an 
animal?" You must give my very best love and respects 
to all my friends, particularly your brothers, uncles Ross 
and Samuel Simpson. You must also write me a long 
letter in reply to this, and tell me about everything and 
everybody, including yourself If you happen to see any 
of my folks, just tell them that I am happy, alive and well. 
I am truly your cousin and obedient servant, 

U. H. Grant 

McKiNSTRY Griffith 

N.B. In coming I stopped five days in Philadelphia 
with our friends. They are all well. Tell Grandmother 

98 



Unrepublican Churchgoing 

Simpson that they always have expected to see her before, 
but have ahuost given up the idea now. They hope to 
hear from her often. 

U. H. Grant 

I came near forgetting to tell you about our demerit or 
" black marks." They give a man one of these " black 
marks '' for almost nothing, and if he gets two hundred a 
year they dismiss him. To show how easy one can get 
these, a man by the name of Grant, of this State, got eight 
of these " marks " for not going to church. He was also 
put under arrest so he cannot leave his room perhaps for 
a month ; all this for not going to church. We are not 
only obliged to go to church, but must march there by 
companies. This is not republican. It is an Episcopal 
church. Contrary to the expectation of you and the rest 
of my Bethel friends, I have not been the least homesick. 
I would not go home on any account whatever. When I 
come home in two years (if I live), the way I shall astonish 
you natives will be curious. I hope you will not take me 
for a baboon. . . . 

Gottingen as seen by the first American students ^;:y 

I 

(George Ticknor to Elisha Ticknor) 

Gottingen, November i8, 1815 
F I desired to teach anybody the value of time, I 



r 



would send him to spend a semestre at Gottingen. 
Until I began to attend the lectures, and go frequently into 
the streets, I had no idea of the accuracy with which it is 
measured and sold by the professors. Every clock that 
strikes is the signal for four or five lectures to begin and 

99 



The Friendly Craft 

four or five others to close. In the intervals you may go 
into the streets and find they are silent and empty ; but the 
bell has hardly told the hour before they are filled with 
students, with their portfolios under their arms, hastening 
from the feet of one Gamaliel to those of another, — gen- 
erally running in order to save time, and often without a 
hat, which is always in the way in the lecture-room. As 
soon as they reach the room, they take their places and 
prepare their pens and paper. The professor comes in 
almost immediately, and from that time till he goes out, 
the sound of his disciples taking notes does not for a 
instant cease. The diligence and success with which they 
do this are very remarkable. One who is accustomed to 
the exercise, and skilful in it, will not only take down every 
idea of the professor, but nearly every word ; and, in this 
land of poverty, lectures are thus made to serve as a kind 
of Lancastrian education in the high branches of letters 
and science. 

About two minutes before the hour is completed, the 
students begin to be uneasy for fear they shall lose the 
commencement of the next lecture they are to attend ; and 
if the professor still goes on to the very limit of his time 
they make a noise of some kind to intimate that he is in- 
truding on his successor, and the hint is seldom unsuccess- 
ful. Eichhorn, who has a great deal of enthusiasm when 
he finds himself in the midst of an interesting topic, some- 
times asks, with irresistible good-nature, for "another 
moment, — only a moment," and is never refused, though 
if he trespasses much beyond his time, a loud scraping 
compels him to conclude, which he commonly does with a 
joke. The lecture-room is then emptied, the streets again 
filled, to repeat the same process in other halls. 

Just so it is in the private instruction I receive. At 
eight o'clock I go to Benecke, and though in three months 

100 



German Students 

and a half I have never missed a lesson or been five min- 
utes tardy, I have seldom failed to find him waiting for me. 
At the striking of nine, I must make all haste away, for the 
next hour is as strictly given to somebody else. At five 
P.M., I go to Schultze for my Greek lesson. As I go up 
stairs he can hear me, and, five times out of six, I find 
him looking out the place where I am to recite. The clock 
strikes six, and he shuts up the book. From the accuracy 
with which time is measured, what in all other languages 
is called a lesson is called in German " an hour." You are 
never asked if you take lessons of such a person, but 
whether you take " hours " of him. . . . 



II 

(George Bancroft to Jane Bancroft) 

GoTTiNGEN, April 14, 1 8 19 

T is a strange world we live in, and full of more 
things than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 
My life on it, you have not formed a conception of a set 
of beings like the German students. I remember even now 
the first time that I saw a party of them collected and 
I believed never to have seen any of my fellow beings 
so rough, uncivilized, and without cultivation. They are 
young, and therefore wild and noisy — live chiefly among 
themselves, without mixing in society, and are therefore 
careless in their deportment, awkward and slovenly. Many 
of them wear mustachios, a thing almost unknown in 
America, and all of them make themselves vile by a Beard, 
dirty and monstrous. Scarcely one of them uses a hat, but 
instead of it a cap which sometimes can scarcely be distin- 
guished from a night cap. This business of wearing only 
an apology for a hat I find so exceedingly convenient, that 

lOI 



I 



The Friendly Craft 



I have fallen into it. When the scholars are assembled 
for a lecture the collection of unpleasant odours is pro- 
digious, and until the professor enters the room there is 
a great noise of whistling, talking and disputing, all which 
however is instantly hushed on sight of the Professor 
though generally wound up by a short but violent hiss. 
This hiss is only a signal for order and tranquility. When 
silence is thus put in possession of the throne the pro- 
fessor begins. ... If a professor read a moment after 
the hour has struck, be he who he may, the oldest and 
most learned, even Eichhorn himself, a curious scene of 
riot ensues. First the students shut up their books ; i.e. 
slam them together, the next step is to stop writing and 
put up their paper, if this do not avail, they take their 
inkstands and strike the benches most vehemently, and 
then begin kicking the floor. All this happens in half a 
minute and the professor is always brought to reason 
before the minute is completed. It is however very seldom 
the case that any one overreaches beyond his time. You 
will from this get an idea of the manner in which a lecture 
in general is heard. On great occasions something ex- 
traordinary must be done. So for instance if Eichhorn 
sneeze, every scholar in the room, or at least the larger 
number, begins drumming with the feet, or beating the 
floor, as if trying its strength. I asked the reason of this 
strange procedure, and was told it implied as much as 
God bless you. If a Professor speaks so fast that it is 
difficult to follow him in writing down what he says, they 
begin to scrape with their feet ; the floor being sandy and 
the feet moving with rapidity, it produces a very grating 
and interrupting noise — the same is done on all occasions 
whatsoever when the instructor displeases his audience. 
This language of the feet when put into words, signifies 
thou art an ass. 

102 



f 



Absolute, Actual Noise 

It is the custom in Gottingen for every man who can, 
to make jests in his lectures, and for every man who 
cannot to attempt it. When a good one is made, they 
clatter with their feet in token of approbation. The same 
happens at the end of any lecture that has been particu- 
larly good ; and also at the end of the term when the 
lectures are closed. On this occasion the students under- 
take to demonstrate their love for the favourite professors ; 
and the degree of love entertained for a Professor is 
measured by the degree of noise, absolute actual noise 
which is made and which often lasts several minutes and 
can be heard as you may well suppose no inconsiderable 
distance. Is this information enough of the blessed hu- 
man beings among whom I live ? . . . 

How Theodore Parker obtained his education ^::> 
(To James B. Patterson) 

Boston, Feb. 28, 1855 
.EAR YOUNG FRIEND,— I am the person you met 



D' 



in the cars, and parted from at Albany. I sought 
you in the cars, but in the dim light I failed to find you. 
I took a good deal of interest in the bright young face, 
looking so pure and hopeful, and thinking that some five- 
and-twenty years ago I was on the same road that you are 
now. I am sorry that you have met with the " misfor- 
tune" you refer to. It certainly casts a shade over a 
young man's prospects for the moment, not for the day. 
You have a good start thus far, and seem to have laid the 
foundation well. It will be no misfortune in the end that 
you must get your own education. It will bring out the 
deep manly elements at an earlier period ; will make you 
more thoughtful when you would else have been more 
gamesome and playful. If you are a teacher you can find 

103 



The Friendly Craft 

much time to study by yourself. I began to teach when 
seventeen years old, and continued it for four winters, 
working at home on my father's farm in the other parts 
of the year. I always found from eight to ten hours a day 
for study, beside the work hours in school ; then I taught 
a high school for three years more, and kept far ahead of 
the class in college of which I was a (nominal) member. 
You can do all that, and perhaps more. 

Perhaps it will be well to pursue the same studies you 
would have taken at college ; with the addition of such 
as belong to your calling as teacher, or you may perhaps 
teach till you accumulate money enough to go through 
college at a later date. No good thing is impossible to a 
serious and earnest young man with good abilities and 
good moral principles. 

But above all things be careful of your health ; your 
success depends on a sound body. Do not violate the 
laws which God writes in these tables of flesh. 

Let me know where you go and what you find to do 
and I will write you again when more at leisure. 

Truly your friend, 

Theo. Parker 

Three letters on a common subject ^::> -^^ -^^ 

I 

Marshfielu, Sep. 8, 1838 

MY DEAR SON. 
Your letter, respecting your private affairs, has 
caused me very great grief. I am shocked, not only at the 
folly & guilt of contract'g such a debt, but at the mis- 
representations which you must have repeatedly made ; as 
you have always told me that you owed noth'g, which the 
means I furnished were not competent to discharge. 

104 



The Whole Truth 

Your letter has remained several days, unanswered, be- 
cause I had not made up my mind what answer to give. 
My first feeling was to withdraw you from College, & to 
let you take care of yourself hereafter. But your letter 
shows an apparent spirit of repentance, & if I were sure 
that I could trust that, I might be induced to overlook the 
enormity of your misconduct. But how can I be sure that 
you have now told me the whole truth ? How can I trust 
your present statements ? Besides, how was this debt 
created ? Was it by gaming, or other immoral habits, or 
by mere thoughtlessness, & folly ? 

I have concluded to go up to Boston, tomorrow or next 
day ; & then, either to go directly to Hanover, or to write 
you again. In the mean time I want to know more about 
the manner of contract'g this debt; & I expect the whole 
truth. I would not* expose you to public reproach, nor 
cast you off, for slight cause ; but with all my affection, I 
will not excuse misconduct, and, especially, I will not put 
up with any degree or particle of misrepresentation, or con- 
cealment of the truth. On the receipt of this, you will 
immediately write to me, directed to Boston ; & when I 
receive your letter, I shall determine what course to pursue. 
Your affectionate, but distressed father, 

Danl. Webster 

II 

Hanover [N. H.], Sept. 13, 1838 

MY DEAR FATHER. 
I received your letter yesterday. I was aware 
that it could not but grieve you very much, and that was 
the reason I never told you before and also made the mis- 
representations which you speak of. And sir I can quiet 
your fears about my repentance not being real and affected, 
for I certainly do feel very sorry and penitent and you may 

105 



The Friendly Craft 

rest assured that the like will never occur again. You wish 
to know how the debts were contracted. I will tell you 
the truth now. You say that you don^t know but it was 
by gaming ? It was not, for I never gambled for a cent in 
my life, nor do I think I ever shall, for I never could have 
been led away as far as that if any one had tried me, for I 
detest the practice and always did. A good deal is for 
such things as nuts & raisins, crockery, cigars, candy, 
pantaloons, chip men, backgammon boards, knife and 
some wi7ie a very little of which I can say with a clear 
conscience I drank myself, riding on horseback and other 
ways for pleasure, and I am sorry to say very few of the 
articles were of any use. The only immoral thing that I 
have purchased is wine, the students with whom most of 
these debts were contracted have graduated, so that there 
would not be the same temptations if I v^rould yield to them, 
which by the help of a firm resolve I hope I never shall. 

I should be very sorry to be taken away from college, 
but if you think best I should be willing to go, with the 
education you have been kind enough to give me and my 
bodily strength I feel I should be able to take care of my- 
self. If I do not improve upon trial I do not wish nor ask 
for any further indulgence, and as to the money part of it 
if by any means by keeping school or in other way I could 
make that up to you in a measure or in full I should be 
most happy to do so, and remain my dear Father your 
most affectionate and deeply penitent son, 

Edward Webster 

III 

Boston, Sep. 21, 1838 

MY DEAR SON. 
I reed your letter, two days ago, and have made 
up my mind to put intire trust in your statements — to 

106 



No Haste to Reply 

clear oif your embarrassments — & to give you a fair op- 
portunity to retrieve whatever may have been amiss ; & to 
resume your studies. 

I now trust, My Dear Son, to hear nothing of you, here- 
after, except what may be gratifying. [D. W.] 

Lyman Beecher is disturbed about his son Edward's 
condition ^^> ^;:> '^o ^:> ^^ ^::^ 

June 22, 1820 

YOUR learned (Latin) letter, with much deterio- 
ration of chirography, came safe to hand. As 
money was the most urgent point of concern, and I had 
none, and can get none, I was in no haste to reply. 

The books for which you subscribed you must decline 
to take, if they will let you off. I cannot buy even the 
most necessary books for my own use ; and our economy 
must be absolutely close and constant, or I shall be obliged 
to take you from college. I say this, not because you 
are prodigal, but because it is literally true, as you must 
know from knowing what my resources are, and what 
my expenses. The books you need you may get at 
H — 's ; second-hand books, if you can find them in good 
preservation. 

The money necessary to your present use I shall send 
as soon as I can get any ; until which, those you owe must 
do as I do, wait^ and you must do as I do, endure the 
mortification of telling them so. Your clothes you will 
please tie up in a pocket-handkerchief and send home to 
be washed, and returned the same week. Send them on 
Monday, and they will be returned on Friday. I have 
contracted with Parks, the stage-driver, to bring and 
return them. This arrangement will save four dollars 
and more. 

107 



The Friendly Craft 

William has been greatly afflicted by the death of his 
fellow-clerkj Andrew Burr, and is much awakened and 
alarmed concerning his own condition as a sinner. He 
wrote me a letter entreating me to pray for him. I 
exchanged with Mr. ElHott, and saw him. I believe the 
Holy Spirit is striving with him, and that he has some 
conviction of sin ; but he fears, as I do, that it may pass 
off without a saving change, which may God avert by the 
merciful interposition of His saving grace. One child out 
of danger would give me joy to which I am yet a stranger, 
and reHeve the sickness of heart occasioned by hope 
deferred. . . . 

I shall not cease to pray, my dear son, for your conver- 
sion, nor to deplore the mighty ruin which all your capaci- 
ties and improvements will constitute in another world, 
should they continue under the dominion of a heart 
unsanctified and unreconciled to God. With all your 
gettings, get wisdom. So expects, and entreats, and prays 
your affectionate father. I think you have never spoken 
to me of your feelings on the subject of religion in any of 
your letters. I hope you do not feel reluctant to do it, 
that I may both know how to pray and to counsel, and 
may also find excitement to pray for you. . . . 

VI 

LOVERS AND FRIENDS 
" The tender grace of a day that is dead " ^;^ --^^ 

I 

MY DEARE HUSBAND, — I knowe not how to 
expresse my love to thee or my desyres of thy 
wished welfayre, but my hart is well known e to thee, 

1 08 



Thinges Goe Well 

which will make relation of my affections though they be 
smalle in appearance : my thoughts are nowe on our great 
change and alteration of our corce heare, which I beseech 
the Lord to blesse us in, & my good Husband cheare up 
thy hart in the expectacion of Gods goodnesse to us, & let 
nothinge dismay or discorage thee ; if the Lord be with us 
who can be against us : my grefe is the feare of stayinge 
behinde thee, but I must leave all to the good providence 
of God. I thank the Lord wee are all heare in reasonable 
good health, I receved a letter since you went from my 
Sonne John, w^^ brout good Nuse from Nue E : I pray 
thanke him for it, I wil rite to him if I have time, & thus 
with my best respect to thy selfe, brother & sister D : I 
commit you to God and rest 

Your fay th full wife 

Margaret Winthrope 

II 

("ffor Mrs. Winthrop at Boston") 

DEARE [forn'], — I am still detayned from thee, but it 
is by the Lord, who hath a greater interest in me 
than thy selfe, when his worke is donne he will restore me 
to thee againe to o^ mutuall comfort: Amen. I thanke 
thee for thy sweet Lre : my heart was w*^ thee to have 
written to thee everye daye, but businesse would not 
permitt me. I suppose thou hearest much newes from 
hence : it may be, some grievous to thee : but be not 
troubled, I assure thee thinges goe well, & they must needs 
doe so, for God is w*^ us & thou shalt see a happy issue. 
I hope to be w*^ thee to morrowe & a frende or 2 : I sup- 
pose. So I kisse my sweet wife & rest 

Thine Jo : Winthrop 

This 6 : daye. 

109 



The Friendly Craft 



M 



III 

(From John Winthrop) 

Y SWEET WIFE, — I prayse God I am in good 
health, peace be to thee & oT familye, so I kisse 

thee, & hope shortly to see thee : farewell. . . . 

IV 
(From John Winthrop) 

Y SWEET WIFE, — So fitt an occasio must not 



M 



passe w^^out a token to thee. I prayse God I am 
well : the Lo : blesse thee & all o!f, so I kisse thee the 
second tyme, farewell. 

A Puritan posey : " The Letter which the Author sent 
with this Discourse [* Experiments of Spiritual 
Life & Health, and their Preservatives '] to his 
Wife M, W, upon her recovery from a dangerous 
sicknesse " ^^ -^^i^ -^^y ^:> -^i^y '^:> 

(From Roger Williams, 1652) 

MY DEAREST LOVE AND COMPANION' in 
this Vale of Tears. 
Thy late sudde7i and dangerous Sicknesse^ and the Lords 
most gracious and speedy raising thee up from the gates 
2indjawes of Death : as they were wonderfull in thine own^ 
and others eyes^ so I hope, and earnestly desire, they may 
be ever in our thoughts^ as a warning from Heaven to 
make ready for a sudden call to be gone from hence : to 
live the rest of our short uncertaine span, more as 
strangers, longing and breathing after another Home and 
Country ; To cast oif our great cares a.nd fears and desires 

no 



A Little Posey 

and joyes about this Candle of this vaine life, that is so 
soon blowne out, and to trust in the living God, of whose 
wonderfull power and mercy thou hast had so much and 
so late experience, which must make thee sing with David 
(Psal. 103.) Blesse the Lord O my Soul, and all that is 
within 7ne blesse his holy Naine : Blesse the Lord, O my 
Soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgiveth all thy 
sins, and healeth thine infrjnities ; who redeemeth thy life 
from destruction, and crowneth thee with 7fiercy and loving 
kindness e. 

My dear Love, since it pleaseth the Lord so to dispose 
of me, and of my affairs at present, that I cannot often see 
thee, I desire often to send to thee. 1 now send thee that 
which I know will be sweeter to thee than the Honey and 
the Honey-combe, and stronger refreshment than the strong- 
est wines or waters, and of more value than if every line 
and letter were thousands of gold and silver. Hezekiah 
upon his recovery from his sicknesse, made a writing 
(fsai. 38.) as an everlasting inonuinent of \ns praise unto 
God, and as a Goad or spur to hiinselfe and others in the 
wayes of godliness e for the future. 

Thy holy and humble desires are strong, but I know thy 
writing is slow, and that thou wilt gladly accept of this 
vay poore helpe, which with humble thankfulnesse 2in6. praise 
to the Lord, I humbly tender to his holy service, and thine 
in him. 

I send thee (though in Winter') an handfull oi flowers 
made up in a little Posey, for thy dear selfe, and our dear 
children, to look and smell on, when I as the grass e of the 
field shall be gone, and withered. . . . 



Ill 



The Friendly Craft 
Judge Sewall offers himself to Madam Gibbs 



^C:y 



(^^To Mrs. Mary Gibbs, Widow, at Newtown, 
Jany 12*1? 1721 ") 

MADAM, your Removal out of Town, and the Severity 
of the Winter, are the reason of my making you this 
Epistolary Visit. In times past (as I remember) you were 
minded that I should marry you, by giving you to your 
desirable Bridegroom. Some sense of this intended Re- 
spect abides with me still ; and puts me upon enquiring 
whether you be wilHng that I should Marry you now, by 
becoming your Husband ; Aged, and feeble, and exhausted 
as I am, your favourable Answer to this Enquiry, in a few 
Lines, the Candor of it will much oblige, Madam, your 
humble Serv* 
Madam Gibbs. S. S. 

But does not propose to pay her debts ^^:^ ^:^ -<:> 
("To Mrs. Mary Gibbs at Newtown") 

Feb\ 10*^ I7fi 

MADAM, these are kindly to salute you, and to say, that 
the Omission of Answering one or two of my Letters, 
and of coming to Town, makes it needful for me to enquire, 
what the plain meaning of your Letter of Jany 30*? may be. 
" I do chuse to comply with your last proposal, of Releas- 
ing my children, and Accepting of the sum you proposed." 
The last Proposal was, For your children, or some in 
their behalf, to give Bond to indemnify me from all debts 
contracted by you before the Marriage ; and from all mat- 
ters respecting the Administration. This I told you, I 
peremptorily insisted on. I was to secure you Forty 
pounds per aBum during the term of your natural Life, in 
case of your Survival. 

112 



Published At Last 

This proposal must be taken entirely, every part of it to- 
gether. And if the words Releasing my Children^ intend 
a Releasing them from this Bond, my last Proposal is not 
accepted by you ; and my Letter of Febr. the sixth, rests 
upon a mistaken foundation. I would prevent Misunder- 
standing, and therefore 1 thus write ; praying an Answer 
as soon as conveniently can be. My Service to Madam 
Cotton. I am, Madam, your humble servant, S. S. 

The Judge and Madam Gibbs are finally published ^^^ 
("To Mrs. Mary Gibbs at Newton, Feb. i6, i7|i") 

MADAM, Possibly you have heard of our Publish- 
ment ^ last Thorsday, before now. It remains, for 
us to join together in fervent Prayers, without ceasing, that 
God would graciously Crown our Espousals with his Bless- 
ing. A good Wife, and a good Husband too, are from the 
Lord. I am bound as far as Deacon Brewer^s to-day. The 
Council sits in the Afternoon next Monday. And I am to 
wait on the Committee of the Overseers of the College 
next Tuesday the 20*^ Inst. Please to accept of Mr. 
MitchePs Sermons of Glory, which is inclosed. With my 
Service to Madam Cotton, I take leave, who am, Madam, 
your humble Servt S. S. 

George Washington salutes Martha Custis '^^^ ^^ 

July 20, 1758 

• • • A A 7''^ ^^^^ begun our march for the Ohio. A 
V V courier is starting for Williamsburg, and I 
embrace the opportunity to send a few words to one whose 
life is now inseparable from mine. Since that happy 
hour when we made our pledges to each other, my thoughts 

iThe publishing of the banns of matrimony. 
I 113 



The Friendly Craft 

have been continually going to 3^ou as another Self. That 
an all-powerful Providence may keep us both in safety is 
the prayer of your ever faithful and affectionate friend. . . . 

John Hancock sends a letter of remonstrance and a 
box of presents to Dorothy Quincy ^Qy <:> ^^ 

Philad'a, \o\h June^ 1775 

MY DR. DOLLY: I am almost prevaiPd on to 
think that my letters to my Aunt & you are not 
read, for I cannot obtain a reply, I have ask'd million 
questions & not an answer to one, I beg'd you to let me 
know what things my Aunt wanted & you, and many other 
matters I wanted to know, but not one word in answer. I 
Really Take it extreme unkind, pray my D^- use not so 
much Ceremony & Reservedness, why can^t you use free- 
dom in writing, be not afraid of me, I want long Letters. 
I am glad the little things I sent you were agreeable. 
Why did you not write me of the top of the Umbrella. 
I was sorry it was spoiled, but I will send you another by 
my Express W^^ will go in a few days. How did my Aunt 
like her gown, & do let me know if the Stockings suited 
her ; she had better send a pattern shoe & stocking, I 
warrant I will suit her. The Inclos'd letter for your Father 
you will read, & seal & forward him, you will observe I 
mention in it your writing your Sister Katy about a few 
necessaries for Katy Sewall, what you think Right let her 
have & Roy James, this only between you and I ; do write 
your Father I should be glad to hear from him, & I Beg, 
my Dear Dolly, you will write me often & long Letters. I 
will forgive the past if you will mend in future. Do ask 
my Aunt to make me up & send me a Watch String, & do 
you make up another & send me, I wear them out fast. I 
want some little thing of your doing. 

114 



All To Be Worn 

Remember me to all Friends with you as if nam'd. I 
am calPd upon & must obey. 

I have sent you by Doc^ Church in a paper Box 
Directed to you, the following things, for your acceptance, 
& which I do insist you wear, if you do not, I shall think 
the Donor is the objection : 

2 pair white silk 1 stockings which 
4 pr. white thread J I think will fit you 
I pr. Black Satin 1 shoes, the other 

I p. Black Calem Co. J Shall be sent when done. 
I very pretty light Hat. 

1 neat Airy Summer Cloak. (I ask Doer. Church) 

2 caps 

I Fann 

I wish these may please you, I shall be gratified if they 
do, pray write me, I will attend to all your Commands. 

Adieu my D^' Girl, and believe me to be with great 
Esteem & Affection. 

Yours without Reserve, 

John Hancock 
Remember me to Katy Brackett. 

John Adams greets his wife, and desires her presence 
here and hereafter ^=^> ^:> ^=^:> ^::> "=c^ ^^::^ 

Philadelphia, i January , 1795 

MY DEAREST FRIEND, 
I wish you a happy new year, and a repetition of 
happy new years as long as time shall endure ; not here 
below, because I shall want you in another country, better 
than this. . . . 



115 



The Friendly Craft 

'^The shadow and the Hght " -^^^ <::> ^^r^ ^;:^ 

(Two letters from Nathaniel Hawthorne to Sophia 
Peabody) 



Salem, Nov. 27, 1840 

DEAREST,— . . . Whenever I return to Salem, I 
feel how dark my life would be without the light 
that you shed upon it, — how cold, without the warmth 
of your love. Sitting in this chamber, where my youth 
wasted itself in vain, I can partly estimate the change that 
has been wrought. It seems as if the better part of me had 
been born since then. I had walked those many years in 
darkness, and might so have walked through life, with only 
a dreamy notion that there was any light in the universe, if 
you had not kissed my eyelids and given me to see. You, 
dearest, have always been positively happy. Not so I, — 
I have only not been miserable. Then which of us has 
gained the most ? I, assuredly ! When a beam of heavenly 
sunshine incorporates itself with a dark cloud, is not the 
cloud benefited more than the sunshine? Nothing at all 
has happened to me since I left you. It puzzles me to 
conceive how you meet with so many more events than I. 
You will have a volume to tell me, when we meet, and you 
will pour your beloved voice into my ears in a long stream ; 
at length you will pause and say, " But what has your life 
been?" and then will stupid I look back upon what I call 
my life, for three or four days past, and behold, a blank ! 

I am enduring my banishment here as best I may ; me- 
thinks, all enormous sinners should be sent on pilgrimage to 
Salem, and compelled to spend a length of time there, pro- 
portioned to the enormity of their offences. Such punish- 
ment would be suited to crimes that do not quite deserve 

1x6 



I 



Sinless Eve 

hanging, yet are too aggravated for State's Prison. Oh, 
naughty I ! If it be a punishment, I deserve to suffer a life- 
long infliction of it, v^ere it only for slandering my native 
town so vilely. But any place is strange and lonesome to 
me where you are not ; and where you are, any place will be 
home. I ought to love Salem better than I do ; for the 
people have always had a pretty generous faith in me, ever 
since they knew me at all. I fear I must be undeserving 
of their praise, else I should never get it. What an ungrate- 
ful blockhead am I ! . . . 

God bless you, you sinless Eve ! • , • • 

II 

Salem, Sept. 3, 1841 

HAVE been out only once, in the daytime, since 
my arrival. How immediately and irrecoverably 
(if you did not keep me out of the abyss) should I relapse 
into the way of life in which I spent my youth ! If it were 
not for you, this present world would see no more of me for- 
ever. The sunshine would never fall on me, no more than 
on a ghost. Once in a while people might discern my 
figure gliding stealthily through the dim evening, — that 
would be all. I should only be a shadow of the night ; it is 
you that give me reality, and make all things real for me. If, 
in the interval since I quitted this lonely old chamber, I 
had found no woman (and you were the only possible one) 
to impart reality and significance to life, I should have come 
back hither ere now, with a feeling that all was a dream 
and a mockery. Do you rejoice that you have saved me 
from such a fate ? Yes ; it is a miracle worthy even of you, 
to have converted a life of shadows into the deepest truth 
by your magic touch. . . . 



117 



The Friendly Craft 

Charles Loring Brace thinks of his wife <:^x ^:^y «<::> 

[Stratford-on-Avon] Stmday^Jime 2^\h. [1865] 

DEAREST WIFE : I was thinking to-day in the old 
church of you — of your wonderful unselfishness 
and richness of love and spirituality of nature, and how 
you would be to me when we had entered the unseen — 
as if you would be nearer God than I, and I would see you 
in a purer light and much higher than here, and whether 
you would be my helper there, and of how sweet and good 
you are here, and how elevated sometimes you seem when 
near to God, and what a treasure your love was, and all 
such pleasant thoughts. Yesterday we were in an old 
chapel of the Warvvicks in Warwick, and there were two 
effigies side by side, hand and hand, of some old Warwick 
and his wife. Together they had fought the great battle, 
and then were laid to rest together, and four hundred 
years had surged over the silent tomb, not much effacing 
it. How much I miss you ! I am better with you, less 
disturbed. May God bless and keep you ever I . . . 

As does also William H. Prescott ^^> ^c:> '<:^ ^^ 

Antwerp, /?//k 23, 1850 
,EAR SUSAN, I never see anything beautiful in 



D' 



nature or art, or hear heart-stirring music in the 
churches, the only place where music does stir my heart, 
without thinking of you, and wishing you could be by my 
side, if only for a moment. . . . 

Your affectionate husband, 

Wm. H. Prescott 



118 



I 



A Musical Love Letter 

" Music is Love in search of a word " '^^ii^y ^::n^ ^::> 

(Sidney Lanier to his wife) 

New York, September 28, 1871 

AM just come from St. PauPs Church, where I 
went at eleven this morning, by invitation of 
Mr. John Cornell, to hear some music composed by him 
for the organ and trombone ; not the old slide-in-and-out 
trombone, but a sort of baritone cornet-a-pistons ^ of rare, 
mellow, yet majestic tone. This was played by one of 
Theo. Thomas' orchestra. The pieces were a funeral 
march, a religious air, and a cornet-piece. Hadst thou 
been with me to hear these horn-tones, so pure, so noble, 
so full of confident repose, striking forth the melody in 
midst of the thousandfold modulations (in which Cornell 
always runs riot), like a calm manhood asserting itself 
through a multitude of distractions and discouragements 
and miseries of life, — hadst thou been there, then how 
fair and how happy had been my day. 

For I mostly have great pain when music, or any beauty, 
comes past my way, and thou art not by. Perhaps this is 
because music takes us out of prison, and I do not like 
to leave prison unless thou goest also. 

For in the smile of love my life cometh to life, even as a 
flower under water gleameth only when the sun-ray 
striketh down thereon. . . . 

An itinerant courtship decorously pursued -<;> ^o 
(From Eliza Southgate) 

Salem, Septejuber 9, 1802 

MY DEAREST MOTHER: 
Once more I am safe in Salem and my first thoughts 
turn toward home. ... I have received more attentions 

119 



The Friendly Craft 

at the Springs than in my whole life before. I know not 
why it was, but I went under every advantage. Mr. Derby 
is so well known and respected, and they are such charm- 
ing people and treated me with so much affection, it could 
not be otherwise ! Among the many gentlemen I have be- 
come acquainted and who have been attentive, one I be- 
lieve is serious. I know not, my dearest Mother, how to 
introduce this subject, yet as I fear you may hear it from 
others and feel anxious for my welfare, I consider it a duty 
to tell you all. At Albany, on our way to Ballston, we 
put up at the same house with a Mr. Bowne from New 
York ; he went on to the Springs the same day we did, and 
from that time was particularly attentive to me ; he was al- 
ways of our parties to ride, went to Lake George in com- 
pany with us, and came on to Lebanon when we did, — 
for 4 weeks I saw him every day and probably had a better 
opportunity of knowing him than if I had seen. him as a 
common acquaintance in town for years. I felt cautious of 
encouraging his attentions, tho' I did not wish to discour- 
age it, — there were so many New Yorkers at the Springs 
who knew him perfectly that I easily learnt his character 
and reputation ; he is a man of business^ uniform in his 
conduct and very much respected] all this we knew from 
report. Mr. and Mrs. Derby were very much pleased with 
him, but conducted towards me with peculiar delicacy^ left 
me entirely to myself, as on a subject of so much impor- 
tance they scarcely dared give an opinion. I felt myself in 
a situation truly embarrassing. At such a distance from 
all my friends, — my Father and Mother a perfect stranger 
to the person, — and prepossessed in his favor as much as 
so short an acquaintance would sanction, — his conduct 
was such as I shall ever reflect on with the greatest pleas- 
ure, — open, candid, generous, and delicate. He is a man 
in whom I could place the most unbounded confidence, 

120 



No Disposition to Refuse 

nothing rash or impetuous in his disposition, but weighs 
maturely every circumstance ; he knew I was not at Uberty 
to encourage his addresses without the approbation of my 
Parents, and appeared as solicitous that I should act with 
strict propriety as one of my most disinterested friends. 
He advised me like a friend and would not have suffered 
me to do anything improper. He only required I would 
not discourage his addresses till he had an opportunity of 
making known to my Parents his character and wishes — ■ 
this I promised and went so far as to tell him I approved 
him as far as I knew him, but the decision must rest with 
my Parents, their wishes were my law. He insisted upon 
coming on immediately : that I absolutely refused to con- 
sent to. But all my persuasion to wait till winter had no 
effect ; the first of October he will come. I could not pre- 
vent it without a positive refusal-, this I felt no disposition 
to give. And now, my dearest Mother, I submit myself 
wholly to the wishes of my Father and you,'convinced that 
my happiness is your warmest wish, and to promote it has 
ever been your study. That I feel deeply interested in Mr. 
Bowne I candidly acknowledge, and from the knowledge I 
have of his heart and character I think him better calcu- 
lated to promote my happiness than any person I have yet 
seen ; he is a firm, steady, serious man, nothing light or 
trifling in his character, and I have every reason to think 
he has well weighed his sentiments towards me, — nothing 
rash or premature. I have referred him wholly to you, and 
you, my dearest Parents, must decide. Octavia mentioned 
nothing about moving, but I am extremely anxious to know 
how soon we go into Portland and what house we shall 
have. Write me immediately on the subject, and let me 
know if you approve my conduct. Mr. Bowne wishes me 
to remain here until he comes on and then let him carry 
me home : this I objected to, but will depend on your ad- 

121 



The Friendly Craft 

vice. . . . You cannot imagine how interested they [Mr. 
and Mrs. Derby] both are in the subject I have been 
writing you upon, — my nearest friends cannot feel more, 
they have witnessed the whole progress, and if you knew 
them, would be convinced they would not have let me act 
improperly, they both approve my conduct. I wish my 
Father would write to Mr. Derby and know what he says 
of Mr. B.'s character. I don't know but 'tis a subject too 
delicate to give his opinion, but I can conceive that my 
Father might request it without impropriety. ... I long 
to hear from home. My love to all my friends, and be- 
lieve me, with every sentiment of duty and affection^ your 
daughter Eliza 

Martha sent me a most elegant Indispensable, white 
lutestring spangled with silver, and a beautiful bracelet for 
the arm made of her hair; she is too good — to love me 
as she says, more than ever. 

In spite of ignorance, Mr. Longfellow admires Mr. 
Sumner's speech ^^r:^ -^^^ ^::> ^^ -^^y ^:> ^^^ 

January 27, 1870 

. . . IV TEVER having dealt with any other figures than 
^ ^ figures of speech ; never having known the dif- 
ference between a bank-note and a greenback ; never hav- 
ing suspected that there was any difference between them, 
— you can imagine with what a dark-lantern I have read 
your speech on the Refunding and Consolidation of the 
National Debt. 

I am as capable of forming an idea of it as a gentleman 
was the other day of estimating a lovely little Albani's 
" Europa " which I showed him, when he said, " A chromo- 
lithography I presume." 

However, I have faith in you ; and faith is " the evi- 

122 



Lacrymce Rerum 

dence of things unseen/' — though I thmk that before 
having it, one must have seen something or other which 
inspires it. This is just my case. Having known you so 
wise and far-seeing in other matters, I believe you to be in 
this. . . . 

" No time like the old time" ^:^ ^;^ ^^ ^::n^ ^:> 

(Charles Sumner to Henry W. Longfellow) 

At Your Home, Sunday^ Aug. 8, 1847 

TAEARLY BELOVED HENRY, — I came here yes- 
-L^ terday morning, and am monarch of all I survey; 
my right there is none to dispute. I seize a moment in 
the lull of the grinding labor of committing my address to 
memory, to send you and Fanny a benediction. I wander 
through the open rooms of your house, and am touched by 
an indescribable feeling of tenderness at the sight of those 
two rooms where we have mused and mourned so often 
together. Joy has washed from your mind those memo- 
ries, but they cling to me still. I looked at the place 
where stood the exte77ipore cot bedstead. I hope that is 
preserved ; if I ever have a home of my own, I shall claim 
it as an interesting memorial. Then the places where 
we have sat and communed, and that window-seat, — all 
seemed to speak to me with soft voices. Most sacred is 
that room to me, — more so than any other haunt of my 
life. I remember all your books as they then looked upon 
me gently from the shelves. Have you forgotten the 
verses of Suckling which we once read together ? I leave 
for Amherst on Tuesday, and shall be back on Friday. 
Let me have a note from you or Fanny. I wish I were 
not quite so sad as I am disposed to be. Felton says my 
address is very fine. Howe says it will astonish by its 
practical character. It is more plain, less ornate, than the 

123 



The Friendly Craft 

others. Its title is *^Fame and Glory." I have said 
nothing, however, which your ^^ Psalm of Life '' does not 
embody. One touch upon your harp sounds louder and 
longer than all I can do. 

Ever and ever thine, 

C. S. 

"No friends like our old friends" ^^ ^o <:::y <:> 

(James Russell Lowell to William Wetmore Story) 

Elmwood, Sept, 25th, 1849 

MY DEAR WILLIAM, — . . . There is one of your 
foreign experiences which I grudge you, only one 
which I envy, and that is the meeting with F. H. If he be 
still within reach of voice or letter, give him my love, fresh 
as ever after so many years' silence — nay, seeming all the 
fresher, like a flower upon a grave. Yet for that buried 
friendship I live in the faith of a joyful resurrection — and 
in the body. Here I sit alone this chilly September morn- 
ing, with the rain just beginning to rattle on the roof, and 
the writing of his name has sent my heart back to the 
happy hopeful past when one was capable of everything 
because one had not yet tried anything. The years have 
taught me some sharp and some sweet lessons — none 
wiser than this, to keep the old friends. Every year adds 
its value to a friendship as to a tree, with no effort an^ 
no merit of ours. The Hchens upon the bark, which the 
dandyfiers of Nature would scrape away, even the dead 
limbs here and there, are dear and sacred to us. Every 
year adds its compound interest of association and enlarges 
the circle of shelter and of shade. It is good to plant them 
early, for we have not the faith to do it when we are old. 
I write it sadly and with tears in my eyes. Later friends 
drink our lees, but the old ones drank the clear wine at 

124 



Auld Lang Syne 

the brim of our cups. Who knew us when we were witty? 
who when we were wise ? who when we were green / . . . 

William Wetmore Story recalls the days lang syne 
(To James Russell Lowell) 

Rome, December loth, 1864 
Y DEAR JAMES, — I was taken ill a month ago at 



M 



Paris, and while I was lying on my bed E. read to me 
your delightful book of " Fireside Travels," which I was 
fortunate enough to procure from London. As she read it all 
the old days revived, all the old passages of love and hope 
and joy which we have known together came before me, 
and my heart yearned toward you as to one of the oldest 
and best loved of all my old friends. For years our cor- 
respondence has ceased — why I know not; but my affec- 
tion has never wavered for a moment, and I've eagerly 
sought from all who had seen you news and information 
about you and yours. But as I read your book — so genial, 
so rich in humour and fancy — I seemed as it were to be 
again talking with you, and I determined, as soon as I 
should be well and have a half hour of unoccupied time, 
to write and break this long silence, and thank you for the 
kindly mention of me which is scattered through your book, 
and for the dedication of it to me. I hear that there is a 
sonnet or some verses prefixed to the American edition, 
but this I have not seen, as it is omitted in the English 
edition. 

How I wish you were again here as in the olden times, 
and that we ao^ain could wander about the streets of the 
city and through the mountain towns, or sit long evenings 
before the fire late into the night and talk as we used to do. 
There is one great drawback to me in my Roman life, and 
that is the want of some friend with whom I can thoroughly 

125 



The Friendly Craft 

sympathize and whom I can meet on the higher ranges of 
art and literature. For the most part, and with scarcely 
an exception among the American artists, art is (here) but 
a money-making trade, and I can have no sympathy with 
those who are artists merely to make their living. As for 
general culture there are none of our countrymen here who 
pretend to it, and I hunger and thirst after some one who 
might be to me as you were. But nobody makes good the 
place of old friends. We are knitted together with our 
youth as we never can be in our older age. . . . Has the 
wild love of travel gone out of your blood as it has out of 
mine? Are you growing respectable, solemn, professorial 
and dignified ? I figure you to myself sometimes as sitting 
in the academic robes on the platform at Commencement, 
and cannot but smile as I see you there. Once in a while 
I hear your trumpet sound through the columns of the 
*' Atlantic" or "North American," and more rarely I read 
some new poem. But why are the poems so rare? Do 
not let the dust of the University drop too thickly upon 
you. Do not yoke Pegasus down into the professor's har- 
ness. You see I have not touched your hand and heard 
your voice for so long that I cannot do more than grope 
after you in the dark, wondering about you and fearing and 
hoping, and getting perhaps everything wrong. 

This year I thought of going to America and seeing the 
old places again. But I hate to travel, and the expense, 
added to my dislike of worry, prevented me. Besides, I 
was not quite well in England, and loved better to lounge 
on the lawn at Mount Felix than to be tossed on the rest- 
less and roaring ocean — but it is just possible that next 
year I may brace myself up to this terrible voyage, and 
then I shall see you. If I do come I hope to bring with 
me some statue ... to show as token of how I have spent 
my thoughts and my life here. At present there is nothing 

126 



A Weakness and All That 

of mine in America of the best that I have done, and I 
should like that something should be there containing my 
best — which is noticing too good. I suppose as yet that 
nobody is convinced that there is much in me, and I fear 
that they are all right. They still pat me on the head and 
feebly encourage me now and then. 

. . . We live in the Barberini Palace and look down 
from our windows over all Rome, but there is not a person 
in any house so dear to us as you are. . . . 

James Russell Lowell obeys his impulse and writes to 
Mr. Godkin ^n:> ^^ ^^^ -<;> ^=^:^ ^^> 



D' 



Elmwood, Zihjany.j 1869 

^ON'T think I have gone mad that I so pepper 
you with letters. I have a reason, as you will 
see presently. But in the first place let me thank you for 
the article on Miss Dickinson, which was just what I 
wanted and expected, for (excuse me) you preach the best 
lay sermons I know of. I know it is a weakness and all 
that, but I was born with an impulse to tell people when I 
like them and what they do, and I look upon you as a 
great benefactor. I sit under your preaching every week 
with indescribable satisfaction, and know just how young 
women feel toward their parson, but, let Mrs. Godkin take 
courage, I can't marry you ! 

My interest in the Nation is one of gratitude, and has 
nothing to do with my friendship for you. I am sure from 
what I hear said against you that you are doing great good 
and that you are respected. I may be wrong, but I sin- 
cerely believe you have raised the tone of the American 
press. . . . 



127 



The Friendly Craft 



" A benediction on the Benedictines " ^;:> ^^^ ^^^ 
(Henry W. Longfellow to Mrs. Annie Fields) 

February 28, 1871 

A BENEDICTION on the Benedictines ! 
I knew they were great lovers of literature, but I 
did not know that they were also distillers of herbs and 
manufacturers of exquisite liqueurs ! 

Your charming remembrance of me on my birthday, — 
the jolly, round, and happy little monk bedded in flowers, 
came safely in his wooden cradle. A thousand and a 
thousand thanks ! 

I am ashamed to send back the basket, or bucket, empty ; 
but I look round in vain for something to fill it. What 
shall I do ? 

After all, the greatest grace of a gift, perhaps, is that it 
anticipates and admits of no return. I therefore accept 
yours, pure and simple ; and on the whole am glad that I 
have nothing to send back in the basket. 

Still, empty is a horrid word. I try in vain to comfort 
myself. I make believe it is the best thing to do, and do 
it, knowing all the time it is not the best thing. . . . 

The unfinished sum ^^r^v ^;^ ^:^ -^^i^ '<:::^ ^:^ 

(Henry W. Longfellow to George William Curtis) 

February 28, 1877 
HASTEN to respond to your cordial. and affectionate 



I 



greeting on my birthday, and to say how delightful it 
was to hear such words from you. It was almost as good 
as seeing you ; but not quite. 

It is a strange feeling, this of being seventy years old. I 
cannot say precisely what the feeling is, — but you will 

128 



Liking To Be Liked 

know one of these days. It is something like that of a 
schoolboy who has filled one side of his slate with the 
figures of a very long sum, and has to turn the slate over 
to go on with it. . . . 

"Forging over the reef ^^ ^^^ -^^ ^v:^ ""^^ 

(James Russell Lowell to Mrs. Leslie Stephen) 

68 Beacon Street, Feb. 27, 1889 



I 



HAVE been forging over the reef of my seventi- 
eth birthday into the smooth water beyond with- 
out much damage to my keel, so far as I can discover. . . . 

I was dined on my birthday, and praised to a degree 
that would have satisfied you, most partial even of your 
sex. But somehow I liked it, and indeed none but a pig 
could have helped liking the ailectionate way it was done. 
I suppose it is a sign of weakness in me somewhere, but I 
can't help it. I do like to be liked. It gives me a far bet- 
ter excuse for being about (and in everybody's way) than 
having written a fine poem does. Thafll be all very v/ell 
when one is under the mould. But I am not sure whether 
one will care for it much. So keep on Hking me, won't 
you? 

It is very droll to be seventy. Don't scold me for it — 
I'll never do it again ; but I don't feel any older, I think, 
and I am sure I don't feel any wiser, than I did before. 
'Tis a little depressing to be reminded that one has lived 
so long and done so httle. When I measure the length 
with the achievement there is a horrible overlapping, but 
I shall expect a certain deference. Whatever condescen- 
sion I show will be multiplied by seven instead of six, 
remember, and precious in proportion. . . . 

From ** Letters of James Russell Lowell," edited by Charles Eliot Norton. 
Copyright, 1893, by Harper & Brothers. 
K 129 



The Friendly Craft 

Dr. Holmes feels " young again at four score " -^ii^ 
(To John G. Whittier) 

September 2, 1889 

HERE I am at your side among the octogenarians. . . . 
You know all about it. You know why I have not 
thanked you before this for your beautiful and precious 
tribute, which would make any birthday memorable. I 
remember how you were overwhelmed with tributes on the 
occasion of your own eightieth birthday, and you can 
understand the impossibility I find before me of respond- 
ing in any fitting shape to all the tokens of friendship 
which I receive. ... I hope, dear Whittier, that you find 
much to enjoy in the midst of all the lesser trials which 
old age must bring with it. You have kind friends all 
around you, and the love and homage of your fellow- 
countrymen as few have enjoyed them, with the deep sat- 
isfaction of knowing that you have earned them, not 
merely by the gifts of your genius, but by a noble life 
which has ripened without a flaw into a grand and serene 
old age. I never see my name coupled with yours, as it 
often is nowadays, without feeling honored by finding my- 
self in such company, and wishing that I were more 
worthy of it. . . . I am living here with my daughter-in- 
law, and just as I turned this leaf I heard wheels at the 
door, and she got out, leading in in triumph her hus- 
band, His Honor, Judge Holmes of the Supreme Court of 
Massachusetts, just arrived from Europe by the Scythia. 
I look up to him as my magistrate, and he knows me 
as his father, but my arms are around his neck and his 
mustache is sweeping my cheek, — I feel young again at 
fourscore. . . . 



130 



An Affable Princess 

VII 

GENIAL GOSSIP 

Mrs. Pinckney of South Carolina and the mother of 
George III discuss domestic affairs ^^^ ^^> 



w 



'E were received in a manner that surprized us, 
for tho' we had heard how good a woman 
the Princess of Wales was, and how very affable and easy, 
her behaviour exceeded everything I had heard or could 
imagine. 

She came forward and received us at the door herself, 
with Princess Augusta, Princess Elizabeth, Prince William, 
and Prince Henry. She mett us with all the chearfulness 
and pleasure of a friend who was extreamely glad to see us ; 
she gave us no time to consider how to introduce ourselves 
or to be at a loss what to say, for she with an air of benig- 
nity told us as soon as we entered she was very glad to see 
us, took Harriott by the hand and kissed her, asked her 
how she liked England, to wS^ she answered, not so well 
as CaroHna, at w^^ the Princess laughed a good deal, and 
said it was very natural for such a little woman as she to 
love her own Country best. . . . 

She introduced the Princes and Princesses that were 
with her to us, and told us we should see the rest presently ; 
inquired how long we had been from Carolina, whether I 
was not frightened with the voyage, how the Children bore 
it, how many we had, what their ages, sons or daughters, 
whether Carolina was a good country, whether we had a 
good Governor, to w^}} we replied in the affirmative. 

She said she was sure the King was allways pleased 
when his provinces had good governors ; enquired the 
Governor's name, and said she had forgot it. She talked 

131 



The Friendly Craft 

to us standing about half an hour, for w^.^? I was in great 
pain. Mr. Pinckney then told her he fear!^ we intruded 
upon her Highness and was going to withdraw, she told 
us not at all, we should not go yet. She believed we 
would be glad to see the Prince of Wales, and she would 
send for him and Prince Edward ; these two live in a house 
just opposite to the Princess ; she then sett down in her 
chair. By this time my poor little girl who had been a 
good deal flurried and overjoyed at the thought of seeing 
the Princesses, began to cry tho' she smothered it as well 
as she could. The Princess said she feared she was un- 
easy, called her several times her little angel, stooped 
upon her knee to her, and desired she would tell her what 
was the matter. I told the Princess she had raisd her 
spirits to such a height, that she was not able to soport it 
any longer. The Princess then took her on her lap, and 
called again for the three youngest Princesses as they 
came in she told them this was Miss Pinckney from 
Carolina was come to see them, and to go and kiss her. 
The little creature Princess Caroline is a most charming 
little babe, speaks very plain, run to her, kissd her, and 
said to the Princess, Mamma this is my girl. I then 
asked her Royal Highness if she would permit me to kiss 
the little one, she reply^, pray do, and ordered Prince 
Frederick but three years old, to come and ask me if he 
was not a good pretty little foot boy? 

I should observe that as soon as we were introduced the 
attendance all withdrew, and the Princess shut the door, 
and when the Princess ordered the little ones in there 
was none of the attendance, nor w^ien she sent for the 
Prince of Wales, but the Princess Augusta went out of the 
room herself on these Messages to some one without, 
w'r^ was 4 times while we stayd. There was in the room 
a great deal of China upon two Cabinets ; the Princess 

132 



Pretty Extraordinary 



got up herself and reached one of the figures to please 
Harriott, and another time desired the Princess Augusta 
to get one w^^ was out of her reach, so she got a chair 
and stood on it to reach it. She then calld for a little 
chair for one of the little ones, who I fancy was not well, 
for 'tis not usual for any one to sit in her presence, w^^ 
Princess Augusta brought herself. 

This, you'll imagine must seem pretty extraordinary to 
an American. 

. . . She then bid H. sit down before her in the chair 
Princess Emelia had just rose from. I told her I could 
not suffer her to sit in her presence. Puh-Puh, says the 
Princess, she knows nothing of all that ; and sat her 
down. ... By this time the little ones were called to 
dinner, I observed that tho they were quite easy in their 
behaviour and seemed to be under no restraint, yet young 
as they were they never spoke but one at a time, nor ever 
interrupted each other wS^ children . . . usually do. When 
the 4 youngest were gone the Princess resumed her inquiries 
after Carolina. ... 

She asked me many little domestick questions as did 
Princess Augusta among w':^ if I suckled my children. I 
told her I had attempted it but my constitution would not 
bear it. She said she did not know but 'twas as well let 
alone, as the anxiety a mother was often in on a child's 
ace*, might do hurt. . . . 

She then resumed her inquiries after Carolina, as to the 
Government and Constitution and whether the Laws were 
made by the Governors and Council, the particulars of 
vv?^ Mr. Pinckney informed — whether we had Earth- 
quakes, asked us concerning the Hurricane, . . . con- 
cerning the Indians their colour, manners etc, how many 
of them we had in our Interest, of our houses, of what they 
were built, our wines and from whence we had them, our 

133 



The Friendly Craft 

manner of eating and dressing turtle, one of wS^ she was 
to have for dinner next day she told me, of the french 
settled among us, of the french corrupting our Indians, of 
our manifactures and concerning silk ; how long the Prov- 
ince had been settled, how far it extended back, and 
many other questions, to all w^^ we answered her Royal 
Highness in the clearest manner we could ; and when the 
Prince would engage Mr P. at a little distance, and she 
wanted to ask him a question she would call in a familiar 
obliging manner, Mr Pinckney is such a thing so and so ? 

. . . We saw all nine children together, and the Princess 
in the midst, and a most lovely family it is. 

After we had been there two hours, we kissed her Royal 
Higness's hand and withdrew, and she ordered Prince 
Edward to see us to the door. 

I hope you will pardon my thus intruding on y5. time. 
I know there are many Chit-chat, Negligent things w^^ 
have a tolerable air in conversation, that make but a poor 
appearance when one comes to write them down and 
subscribe to them in a formal manner. But when I begin 
to write to my friends in Carolina I don't know how to 
conclude and this desire of conversing with them may 
make me a very troublesome correspondant, tho' I hope it 
will at the same time show, how much I am dear madam, 
Yr affectionate and ob?.* sv^. 

E. Pinckney 

The storm does not keep Eliza Southgate from 
the Assembly '<:^ -^=0 '^^:^ ^^ -^^ 

Portland, March i, 1802 

SUCH a frolic ! Such a chain of adventures I never 
before met with, nay, the page of romance never pre- 
sented its equal. 'Tis now Monday, — but a Httle more 

134 



I 



Charles Coffin Remonstrates 

method, that I may be understood. I have just ended my 
Assembly's adventure, never got home till this morning. 
Thursday it snowed violently, indeed for two days before 
it had been storming so much that the snow drifts were 
very large ; however, as it was the last Assembly I could 
not resist the temptation of going, as I knew all the 
world would be there. About 7 I went down-stairs and 
found young Charles Coffin, the minister, in the parlor. 
After the usual enquiries were over he stared awhile at my 
feathers and flowers, asked if I was going out, — I told 
him I was going to the Assembly. 

"Think, Miss Southgate," said he, after a long pause, 
" think you would go out to meeting in such a storm as 
this ? " Then assuming a tone of reproof, he entreated me 
to examine well my feehngs on such an occasion. I 
heard in silence, unwilling to begin an argument that I was 
unable to support. The stopping of the carriage roused 
me ; I immediately slipt on my socks and coat, and met 
Horatio and Mr. Motley in the entry. The snow was 
deep, but Mr. Motley took me up in his arms and sat me 
in the carriage without difficulty. I found a full assembly, 
many married ladies, and every one disposed to end the 
winter in good spirits. At one we left dancing and went 
to the card-room to wait for a coach. It stormed dread- 
fully. The hacks were all employed as soon as they 
returned, and we could not get one till 3 o'clock, for 
about two they left the house, determined not to return 
again for the night. It was the most violent storm I ever 
knew. There were now 20 in waiting, the gentlemen 
scolding and fretting, the ladies murmuring and complain- 
ing. One hack returned ; all flocked to the stairs to 
engage a seat. So many crowded down that 'twas im- 
possible to get past ; luckily I was one of the first. I 
stept in, found a young lady, almost a stranger in town, 

135 



The Friendly Craft 

who keeps at Mrs. Jordan's, sitting in the back-seat. She 
immediately caught hold of me and beg'd if I possibly 
could accommodate her to take her home with me, as she 
had attempted to go to Mrs. Jordan's, but the drifts were 
so high, the horses could not get through ; that they were 
compelled to return to the hall, where she had not a single 
acquaintance with whom she could go home. I was dis- 
tres't, for I could not ask her home with me, for sister had 
so much company that I was obliged to go home with 
Sally Weeks and give my chamber to Parson Coffin. I 
told her this, and likwise that she should be provided for 
if my endeavors could be of any service. None but ladies 
were permitted to get into the carriage ; it presently was 
stowed in so full that the horses could not move ; the door 
was burst open, for such a clamor as the closing of it 
occasioned I never before heard. The universal cry was — 
'' a gentleman in the coach, let him come out I " We 
all protested there was none, as it was too dark to dis- 
tinguish ; but the little man soon raised his voice and bid 
the coachman proceed ; a dozen voices gave contrary 
orders. 'Tvvas a proper riot, I was really alarmed. My 
gentleman, with a vast deal of fashionable independence, 
swore no power on earth should make him quit his seat ; 
but a gentleman at the door jump't into the carriage, 
caught hold of him, and would have dragged him out if we 
had not all entreated them to desist. He squeezed again 
into his seat, inwardly exulting to think he should get safe 
home from such rough creatures as the men, should pass 
for a lady, be secure under their protection, for none would 
insult him before them, mean creature ! ! The carriage at 
length started full of ladies, and not one gentleman to pro- 
tect us, except our lady man who had crept to us for shelter. 
When we found ourselves in the street, the first thing was 
to find out who was in the carriage and where we were all 

136 



What was his Motive ? 

going, who first must be left. Luckily two gentlemen had 
followed by the side of the carriage, and when it stopt 
took out the ladies as they got to their houses. Our sweet 
little, trembling, delicate, unprotected fellow sat immovable 
whilst the two gentlemen that were obHged to walk thro- 
all the snow and storm carried all the ladies from the car- 
riage. What could be the motive of the little wretch for 
creeping in with us I know not : I should have thought 
'twas his great wish to serve the ladies, if he had moved 
from the seat, but 'twas the most singular thing I ever 
heard of. We at length arrived at the place of our desti- 
nation. Miss Weeks asked Miss Coffin (for that was the 
unlucky girl's name) to go home with her, which she 
readily did. The gentlemen then proceeded to take us out. 
My beau, unused to carrying such a weight of sin and folly, 
sank under its pressure, and I was obliged to carry my 
mighty self through the snow which almost buried me. 
Such a time, I never shall forget it ! My great-grand- 
mother never told any of her youthful adventures to equal 
it. The storm continued till Monday, and I was obliged 
to stay ; but Monday I insisted if there was any possibility 
of getting to Sister's to set out. The horse and sleigh were 
soon at the door, and again I sallied forth to brave the 
tempestuous weather (for it still snowed). . . At 
length we arrived at Sister Boyd's door, and the drift be- 
fore it was the greatest we had met with ; the horse was 
so exhausted that he sunk down, and we really thought 
him dead. 'Twas some distance from the gate and no 
path. The gentleman took me up in. his arms and carried 
me till my weight pressed him so far into the snow that he 
had no power to move his feet. I rolled out of his arms 
and wallowed till I reached the gate ; then rising to shake 
off the snow, I turned and beheld my beau fixed and im- 
movable ; be could not get his feet out to take another 

^Z7 



The Friendly Craft 

step. At length, making a great exertion to spring his 
whole length forward, he made out to reach the poor horse, 
who lay in a worse condition than his master. By this 
time all the family had gathered to the window, indeed 
they saw the whole frolic ; but 'twas not yet ended, for, 
unluckily, in pulling off Miss Weeks' bonnet to send to 
the sleigh to be carried back, I pulled off my wig and left 
my head bare. I was perfectly convulsed with laughter. 
Think what a ridiculous figure I must have been, still 
standing at the gate, my bonnet halfway to the sleigh and 
my wig in my hand. However, I hurried it on, for they 
were all laughing at the window, and made the best of my 
way into the house. The horse was unhitched and again 
set out, and left me to ponder on the incidents of the 
morning. I have since heard of several events that took 
place that Assembly night much more amusing than mine, 
— nay, Don Quixote's most ludicrous adventures compared 
with some of them will appear like the common events of 
the day. . . . 

While waiting for breakfast, Aaron Burr writes to his 
daughter -^^ ^^::^ ^o ^^:> ^^:> ^:^ -^^^ 

New- York, Atigiist 6^ 1803 

YOUR letter of the 20th of July was received from 
the post-office on my arrival last evening. There 
must be some anachronism in the date, for you left New- 
York on the 2 1 St. I learned, however, that you arrived, 
were well, and had danced. Lord, how I should have liked 
to see you dance. It is so long; how long is it? It is 
certain that you danced better than anybody and looked 
better. Not a word of the Spring waters, their effects, &c. 
I made the journey from Providence by land in four 
days. Near town, yesterday, p.m., I met Mr. and Mrg, 

138 



Miss Did Not Come 

Harper, of Baltimore. They are to breakfast with me this 
morning ; so I must make haste, for it is now eight o'clock. 
How bad I write to-day. With Mr. and Mrs. Harper was 
a pretty-looking, black-eyed lass, whose name I did not 
hear. I hope she is coming out to breakfast, for I like her. 
There was also that Liverpool merchant, who used to hang 
on Butler so in Charleston. I hope he wont come. 

. . . Now I hear the carriage. Bon jour. Be a good 
girl. Love to H. 'Twas nothing but a cart. 

L. and her little bang are here {j:hez nous) ; how happy 
are you mothers. She will descant on its beauties by the 
hour ; will point them out to you distinctly, lest they might 
escape notice. The hair, the nose, the mouth, and, in 
short, every feature, limb, and muscle, is admirable and is 
admired. To all which I agreed. . . . 

Here they come, in earnest. I see only one lady in the 
carriage ; so miss has not come ; well, she may stay. 

. A. Burr 



And in spite of her dilatoriness continues to write ^^:> 

New- York, March 28, 1804 

YOUR letter, dated early in this month — I don't 
recollect the very day, having left the letter in 
town ; but you write so seldom that a reference to the month 
is sufficiently descriptive ; your letter, then, of March, an- 
nouncing your removal to the Oaks, the pretty description 
of your house and establishment, aiid all that ^ were very 
amusing. I had really begun to doubt whether you were 
not all dead or something worse. 

I shall get the speech, no thanks to you ; there is a copy 
in Philadelphia, for which I have written, and it will come 
endorsed by the fair hand of Celeste : truly her hand and 
arm are handsome. I did not see her on my way through 

139 



The Friendly Craft 

— tant inieiix'^ for I took great afifront ; thence ensued 
explanations, &c. Nothing like a quarrel to advance love. 
La Planche I did see twice in one day ; the last a long, 
very long visit. Lovely in weeds. . . . 

Ph. Church and Miss Stewart, of Philadelphia, it is said, 
are to be married ; Duer (which Duer I don't know) and 
Miss M. Denning reported as engaged; Bunner and Miss 
Church said to be mutually in love ; on his part avowed, 
on hers not denied. 

The Earl of Selkirk is here ; a frank, unassuming, sensi- 
ble man of about thirty. Whether he thinks of La R. is 
unknown to the writer. He dines with me on Monday. 

If you had one particle of invention or genius, you would 
have taught A. B. A.^ his ^, b^ c before this. God mend 
you. His fibbing is an inheritance, which pride, an inheri- 
tance, will cure. His mother went through that process. 
Adieu. 

A. Burr 



Washington Irving tries to save the country <:> ^> 
(To Miss Mary Fairlee) 

New York, May 2, 1807 

• * • A A J^ have toiled through the purgatory of an 

^ V election, and may the day stand for aye 
accursed on the Kalendar, for never were poor devils 
more intolerably beaten and discomfited than my forlorn 
brethren, the Federalists. What makes me the more out- 
rageous is, that I got fairly drawn into the vortex, and be- 
fore the third day was expired, I was as deep in mud and 
politics as ever a moderate gentleman would wish to be ; 
and I drank beer with the multitude ; and I talked handbill- 

1 Her son. 
140 



The Tug of War 

fashion with the demagogues, and I shook hands with the 
mob — whom my heart abhorreth. 'Tis true for the two 
first days I maintained my coolness and indifference. The 
first day I merely hunted for whim, character, and ab- 
surdity, according to my usual custom ; the second day 
being rainy, I sat in the bar-room at the Seventh Ward, 
and read a volume of Galatea, which I found on a shelf; 
but, before I had got through a hundred pages, I had three 
or four good Feds sprawling around me on the floor, and 
another with his eyes half shut, leaning on my shoulder in 
the most affectionate manner, and spelling a page of the 
book as if it had been an electioneering handbill. But the 
third day — Ah ! then came the tug of war. My patriotism 
all at once blazed forth, and I determined to save my 
country ! Oh, my friend, I have been in such holes and 
corners ; such filthy nooks and filthy corners, sweep offices 
and oyster cellars ! *^ I have been sworn brother to a leash 
of drawers, and can drink with any tinker in his own lan- 
guage during my life," — faugh ! I shall not be able to 
bear the smell of small beer or tobacco for a month to 
come ! . . . 

Truly this saving one's country is a nauseous piece of 
business, and if patriotism is such a dirty virtue — prythee, 
no more of it. I was almost the whole time at the Seventh 
Ward — as you know, that is the most fertile ward in mob, 
riot, and incident, and I do assure you the scene was ex- 
quisitely ludicrous. Such haranguing and puffing and 
strutting among all the little great men of the day. Such 
shoals of unfledged heroes from the lower wards, who had 
broke away from their mammas, and run to electioneer 
with a slice of bread and butter in their hands. . . . 



141 



The Friendly Craft 

Although uninvited and badly shaven, Washington 
Irving attends Mrs. Madison's levee ^:> ^^^ ^v^ 

(To Henry Brevoort) 

City of Washington, /^;/. 13, 181 1 

DEAR BREVOORT : I have been constantly intend- 
ing to write to you ; but you know the hurry and 
confusion of the life I at present lead, and the distraction 
of thought which it occasions, and which is totally hostile 
to letter writing. The letter, however, which you have 
been so good as to write me, demands a return of one kind 
or another ; and so I answer it, partly through a sense of 
duty, and partly in hopes of inducing you to write another. 

My journey to Baltimore was terrible and sublime — as 
full of adventurous matter and direful peril as one of 
Walter Scott's pantomimic, melo-dramatic, romantic tales. 
I was three days on the road, and slept one night 
in a log-house. Yet somehow or another, I lived through 
it all ; and lived merrily into the bargain, for which I 
thank a large stock of good humor, which I put up before 
my departure from New York, as travelling stores to last 
me throughout my expedition. In a word, I left home, 
determined to be pleased with every thing, or if not pleased, 
to be amused, if I may be allowed the distinction, and I 
have hitherto kept to my determination. . . . 

The ride from Baltimore to Washington was still worse 
than the former one ; but I had two or three odd geniuses 
for fellow-passengers, and made out to amuse myself very 
well. I arrived at the Inn about dusk ; and, understand- 
ing that Mrs. Madison was to have her levee or drawing- 
room that very evening, I swore by all my gods I would be 
there. But how? was the question. I had got away 
down into Georgetown, and the persons to whom my 
letters of introduction were directed, lived all upon Capitol 

142 



A Sanguinary Barber 

Hill, about three miles off, while the President's house 
was exactly half way. Here was a non-plus enough to 
startle any man of less enterprising spirit; but I had 
sworn to be there, and I determined to keep my oath, and 
like Caleb Quotem, to "have a place at the Review." So 
I mounted with a stout heart to my room ; resolved to put 
on my pease blossoms and silk stockings ; gird up my 
loins ; sally forth on my expedition ; and like a vagabond 
knight errant, trust to Providence for success and whole 
bones. Just as I descended from my attic chamber, full of 
this valorous spirit, I was met by my landlord, with whom, 
and the head waiter, by-the-bye, I had held a private 
cabinet counsel on the subject. Bully Rook informed me 
that there was a party of gentlemen just going from the 
house, one of whom, Mr. Fontaine Maury of New York, 
had offered his services to introduce me to " the Sublime 
Porte." I cut one of my best opera flourishes ; skipped 
into the dressing-room, popped my head into the hands of 
a sanguinary Jacobinical barber, who carried havoc and 
desolation into the lower regions of my face ; mowed down 
all the beard on one of my cheeks, and laid the other in 
blood like a conquered province ; and thus, like a second 
Banquo, with " twenty mortal murthers on my head," in a 
few minutes I emerged from dirt and darkness into the 
blazing splendor of Mrs. Madison's drawing-room. Here 
I was most graciously received ; found a crowded collection 
of great and little men, of ugly old women and beautiful 
young ones, and in ten minutes was hand and glove with 
half the people in the assemblage. Mrs. Madison is a 
fine, portly, buxom dame, who has a smile and a pleasant 
word for everybody. Her sisters, Mrs. Cutts and Mrs. 
Washington, are like the two merry wives of Windsor ; 
but as to Jemmy Madison — ah! poor Jemmy! — he is but 
a withered little apple-John. . . . 

143 



The Friendly Craft 

is here, and "my brother George" into the 

bargain. is endeavoring to obtain a deposit in the 

Mechanic's Bank, in case the U. S. Bank does not obtain 
a charter. He is as deep as usual ; shakes his head, and 
winks through his spectacles at every body he meets. He 
swore to me the other day, that he had not told anybody 
what his opinion was, whether the bank ought to have a 
charter or not ; nobody in Washington knew what his 
opinion was — not one — nobody — he defied any one to 
say what it was — " anybody — damn the one — no, sir 
— nobody knows" — and, if he had added nobody cares, 

I believe honest would have been exactly in the right. 

Then there's his brother ^ "damn that fellow — knows 

eight or nine languages — yes, sir — nine languages — 
Arabic, Spanish, Greek, Ital — and there's his wife now — 
she and Mrs. Madison are always together. Mrs. Madi- 
son has taken a great fancy to her little daughter ; only 
think, sir, that child is only six years old, and talks the 
Italian like a book, by God — little devil learned it all 
from an Italian servant — damned clever fellow — lived 

with my brother ten years — says he would not part 

with him for all Tripoli," &c., &c., &c. 

... It is now almost one o'clock at night. I must to 
bed. Remember me to all the lads and lasses, Gertrude, 
Miss Wilkes, and the bonny lasses in Greenwich street, 
whose fair hands I kiss. 

I am, my dear fellow, yours ever, 

W.I. 



144 



Bouilli is Indispensable 

Mrs. Samuel Harrison Smith gives ^' a small, genteel 
dinner" for Miss Martineau --^^ ^^::> ^> -^^^ 

(To Mrs. Kirkpatrick) 

Washington, Febr. 4th, 1835 



A' 



ND now for Miss Martineau, since you desire to 
hear a little more about her, particularly of the 
day she passed here. But I really must give you a pre- 
vious scene which amused me extremely and will not be 
without some diversion for you. The day previous to our 
little dinner party, I sent for Henry Orr, whom I had al- 
ways employed when I had company and who is the most 
experienced and fashionable waiter in the city. He is 
almost white, his manners gentle, serious and respectful, 
to an uncommon degree and his whole appearance quite 
gentlemanly. " Henry," said I, when he came, " I am 
going to have a small dinner party, but though small, I 
wish it to be pecuHarly nice, everything of the best and 
most fashionable. I wish you to attend, and as it is many 
years since I have dined in company, you must tell me 
what dishes will be best. '^ Bouilli," I suppose, " is not 
out of fashion? " " No, indeed. Ma'am ! A BouilU at the 
foot of the table is indispensable, no dinner without it." 
'' And at the head ? " " After the soup. Ma'am, fish, boiled 
fish, and after the Fish canvas-backs, the BouilH to be 
removed, and Pheasants." " Stop, stop Henry," cried I, 
"not. so many removes if you please!" "Why, ma'am, 
you said your company was to be a dozen, and I am only 
telling you what is absolutely necessary. Yesterday at Mr. 
Woodbury's there was only 18 in company and there were 30 
dishes of meat." " But Henry I am not a Secretary's lady. 
I want a small, genteel dinner." " Indeed, ma'am, that is 
all I am telling you, for side dishes you will have a very 
L 145 



The Friendly Craft 

small ham, a small Turkey, on each side of them Partridges, 
mutton chops, or sweet breads, a macaroni pie, an oyster 
pie." — '^That will do, that will do, Henry. Now for 
vegetables." ^^Well, ma'am, stew'd celery, sp'inage, sal- 
sify, cauliflower."" ^^ Indeed, Henry, you must substitute 
potatoes, beets, &c." "Why, ma'am, they will not be 
genteel, but to be sure if you say so, it must be so. Mrs. 
Forsyth the other day would have a plum-pudding, she 
will keep to old fashions." "What, Henry, plum-pudding 
out of fashion ? " " La, yes. Ma'am, all kinds of puddings 
and pies." " Why, what then must I have at the head 
and foot of the table ?" " Forms of ice-cream at the head, 
and a pyramid of anything, grapes, oranges, or anything 
handsome at the foot." "And the other dishes?" 
"Jellies, custards, blanc-mange, cakes, sweet-meats, and 
sugar-plums." " No nuts, raisons, figs, &c., &c. ? " " Oh, 
no, no, ma'am, they are quite vulgar." " Well, well, 
Henry. My desert is, I find, all right, and your dinner 
I suppose with the exception of one or two things. You 
may order me the pies, partridges, and pheasants from the 
French cook, and Priscilla can do the rest." " Indeed, 
ma'am, you had best " — " No more, Henry, " interrupted I. 
"I am not Mrs. Woodbury." . . . But I carried my point 
in only having 8 dishes of meat, tho' I could not convince 
Henry, it was more genteel than a grander dinner. He 
came the next day, and leaving him and the girls as his 
assistants (for Anna absolutely locked me out of the dining 
room) I sat quietly in the front parlour, as if no company 
was expected. Mrs. Randolph, Mrs. Coolidge (Ellen 
Randolph that was), James Bayard and B[ayard] K[irk- 
patrick] were the only additional guests to Miss M[ar- 
tineauj and Miss Jeffrey her companion. About 3, B. K. 
came. I only was in the parlour, the girls were dressing, 
presently Ann came down, and told me Miss M. and Miss 

146 



Miss Martineau's Ear Tube 

J. were up stairs in my room. "And you left them there 
alone V exclaimed I. "To be sure answered Ann, with 
her usual nonchalance. I have never been introduced to 
them and they asked me to show them to a chamber." 
" And you let them go in alone ! ^' " To be sure," I has- 
tened up stairs and found them combing their hair. They 
had taken off their bonnets and large capes. "You see," 
said Miss M., "we have complied with your request and 
come sociably to pass the day with you. We have been 
walking all the morning, our lodgings were too distant to 
return, so we have done as those who have no carriages 
do in England, when they go to pass a social day." I 
offered her combs, brushes, etc. but showing me the 
enormous pockets in her french dress, said they were pro- 
vided with all that was necessary, and pulled out nice little 
silk shoes, silk stockings, a scarf for her neck, little lace 
mits, a gold chain and some other jewelry, and soon with- 
out changing her dress was prettily equipped for dinner or 
evening company. We were all as perfectly at our ease as 
if old friends. Miss M.'s toillette was soonest completed, 
and sitting down by me on the sopha, and handing me 
the tube, we had a nice social chat before we went down 
stairs. I introduced Mr. Smith, my nephews, and son &c. 
Mr. S. took a seat on the sopha by her, and I on a chair 
on her other side, to be near to introduce others. It was 
quite amusing to see Mr. S. He took the tube and at first 
applied its wrong cup to his lips, but in the warmth of 
conversation perpetually forgot it, and as he always ges- 
ticulates a great deal with his hands, he was waving about 
the cup, quite forgetful of its use, except when I said, as I 
continually had to do, " Put it to your lips." But Miss M. 
had admirable tact and filled up the gaps of his part of the 
conversation, made by the waving of the tube, by her in- 
tuitive perception and talked as fluently of Lord Brougham, 

147 



The Friendly Craft 

Lord Durham and other political personages, of whom Mr. 
S. inquired as if she had heard every word . . . Mrs. 
Coolidge managed better, and conversed with perfect ease 
and great fluency,until dinner, which was not served until 
five o'clock, when the curtains being drawn and shutters 
closed, the candles on the table were lit and made every- 
thing look better. . . . Dinner went off -z/^ry w^//. Icon- 
versed a great deal with Miss M., as Mrs. R. would not. 
Our conversation was very interesting and carried on in a 
tone that all the rest of the company could hear. ... It 
was a rich treat to hear her. Her words flow in a con- 
tinual stream, her voice pleasing, her manners quiet and 
lady-like, her face full of intelhgence, benevolence and 
animation. ... It was 1 1 o'clock before the party broke 
up. Every one gratified at an opportunity of meeting 
Miss M. in such a quiet, social manner. . . . 

Washington Irving denies both -<::> ^^^ ^;::^ ^^:> 

(To James K. Paulding, Jan. 3, 1833) 
S to rumors, they are as numerous as they are 



A^ 



absurd. Gouverneur's particular friend, Bank- 
head, the British charge cVaffaires^ has just returned from 
New York, very gravely charged with one concerning 

myself ; viz., that I was to marry Miss , and receive 

the appointment of Postmaster of New York II Now 
either the lady or the office would be a sufficient blessing 
for a marrying or an office-craving man ; but God help 
me ! should be as much bothered with the one as with 
the other. . . . 



148 



A Serious Situation 

James Russell Lowell prepares to buy a doll <:iy ^o^y 
(To Mrs. William Wetmore Story) 

Hotel de France, Rue Lafitte, 
Paris, /?//k i6th, 1856 

MY DEAR EMELYN, — Here I am back again just 
where I was a year ago at this time and as delighted 
to hear of your being in England as I was then dis- 
appointed to find that you had decamped thither — for in 
England I shall be in a few days. It is rumoured in dip- 
lomatic circles that you are at the White Hart, Windsor — 
which has a very comfortable sound. But are you to stay 
there ? Shall we go and see another cathedral or two 
together ? 

What I wish you particularly to do now is to write and 
tell me where you got the doll which has so excited Ma- 
bePs cupidity. If you can't remember the exact address 
can you tell the street or the quarter ? Also whether it 
is a gal of wax ? Moves her eyes ? About how big ? Cost 
environ how much ? Has a wardrobe ? I see ruin star- 
ing me in the face, and have just got a letter from M. 
ordering shoes, stockings and what not for the young 
foreigner. You see what a predicament 1 should be in 
were I to go home with the wrong baby. It is not a case 
for a warming-pan, for the features of the child are already 
known to the expectant mother by vision — nay by actual 
touch of the twin sister of elder birth. Not every sup- 
posititious child would answer. . . . 

So the Longfellows are coming ? WonH they have a 
nice time ! Over here it is more of a reputation to know 
Longfellow than to have written various immortal works. 
Gather your laurels while ye may, old Time is still a-flying! 
and old times, too, more's the pity. We will have one 
more, though, in England, I trust. . . . 

149 



I 



The Friendly Craft 

" The broken circle " '<::^ ^^^ ^^y ^^ ^^:> '^:n^ 

(Henry W. Longfellow to Charles Sumner) 

January 30, 1859 

"T is Sunday afternoon. You know, then, how the 
old house looks, — the shadow in the library, and 
the sunshine in the study, where I stand at my desk and 
write you this. Two little girls are playing about the 
room, — A. counting with great noise the brass handles on 
my secretary, '^nine, eight, five, one," and E. insisting 
upon having some paper box, long promised but never 
found, and informing me that I am not a man of my word ! 
And I stand here at my desk by the window, thinking of 
you, and hoping you will open some other letter from 
Boston before you do mine, so that I may not be the first 
to break to you the sad news of Prescott's death. Yes, he 
is dead, — from a stroke of paralysis, on Friday last at two 
o'clock. Up to half past twelve he was well, and occu- 
pied as usual ; at two he was dead. We shall see that 
cheerful, sunny face no more ! Ah me ! what a loss this 
is to us all, and how much sunshine it will take out of the 
social life of Boston ! . . . 

Henry D. Thoreau on " that glorious society called 
Solitude" ^:> ^::> '<:^ <::> ^^y ^;:> 

Concord, January i, 1859 

MR. BLAKE,— 
... I have lately got back to that glorious society 
called Solitude, where we meet our friends continually, 
and c^n imagine the outside world also to be peopled. 
Yet some of my acquaintance would fain hustle me into 
the almshouse for the sake of society^ as if I were pining 
for that diet, when I seem to myself a most befriended 

150 



Indigestion of Society 

man, and find constant employment. They have got a 
club,^ the handle of which is in the Parker House at 
Boston, and with this they beat me from time to time, ex- 
pecting to make me tender or minced meat, so fit for a 
club to dine off. 

" Hercules with his club 
The Dragon did drub; 
But More of More Hall 
With nothing at all, 
He slew the Dragon of Wantley." 

Ah ! that More of More Hall knew what fair play was. 
Channing, who wrote to me about it once, brandishing the 
club vigorously (being set on by another, probably), says 
now^ seriously, he is sorry to find by my letters that I am 
" absorbed in politics," and adds, begging my pardon for 
his plainness, " Beware of an extraneous life ! " and so he 
does his duty, and washes his hands of me. I tell him 
that it is as if he should say to the sloth, that fellow that 
creeps so slowly along a tree, and cries ai from time to 
time, *' Beware of dancing ! " 

The doctors are ail agreed that I am suffering for want 
of society. Was never a case like it. First, I did not 
know that I was suffering at all. Secondly, as an Irishman 
might say, I had thought it was indigestion of the society 
I got. 

As for the Parker House, I went there once, when the 
Club was away, but I found it hard to see through the cigar 
smoke, and men were deposited about in chairs over the 
marble floor, as thick as legs of bacon in a smoke-house. 
It was all smoke, and no salt, Attic or other. The only 
room in Boston which I visit with alacrity is the Gentle- 
men's Room at the Fitchburg Depot, where I wait for the 

1 The Saturday Club, 



The Friendly Craft 

cars, sometimes for two hours, in order to get out of town. 
It is a paradise to the Parker House, for no smoking is 
allowed, and there is far more retirement. A large and 
respectable club of us hire it (Town and Country Club), 
and I am pretty sure to find some one there whose face is 
set the same way as my own. . . . 

Have you found at last in your wanderings a place where 
the solitude is sweet ? 

What mountain are you camping on nowadays ? Though 
I had a good time at the mountains, I confess that the 
journey did not bear any fruit that I know of I did not 
expect it would. The mode of it was not simple and ad- 
venturous enough. You must first have made an infinite 
demand, and not unreasonably, but after a corresponding 
outlay, have an all-absorbing purpose, and at the same 
time that your feet bear you hither and thither, travel much 
more in imagination. 

To let the mountains slide, — live at home like a traveler. 
It should not be in vain that these things are shown us 
from day to day. Is not each withered leaf that I see in 
my walks something which I have traveled to find ? — 
traveled, who can tell how far? What a fool he must be 
who thinks that his El Dorado is anywhere but where he 
lives ! . . . 

Henry James, Sr., regards the Saturday Club with im- 
perfect seriousness ^^^ <:> --v:^ ^^:> -^o 

(To Ralph Waldo Emerson) 

I CANNOT forbear to say a word I want to say about 
Hawthorne and Ellery Channing. Hawthorne isn't a 
handsome man, nor an engaging one, personally. He has 
the look all the time, to one who doesn't know him, of a 
rogue who suddenly finds himself in a company of detec- 

152 



Hawthorne the Only Oasis 

tives. But in spite of his rusticity, I felt a sympathy for 
him amounting to anguish, and couldn't take my eyes off 
him all the dinner, nor my rapt attention, as that indeci- 
sive little found, I am afraid, to his cost, for I hardly 

heard a word of what he kept on saying to me, and felt at 
one time very much like sending down to Parker to have 
him removed from the room as maliciously putting his 
little artificial person between me and a profitable object 

of study. Yet I feel now no ill-will to , and could 

recommend any one (but myself) to go and hear him 
preach. Hawthorne, however, seemed to me to possess 
human substance, and not to have dissipated it all away, 
as that debauched X. Y. and the good, inoffensive, com- 
forting Longfellow. He seemed much nearer the human 
being tlian any one at that end of the table, — much nearer. 
John Forbes and yourself kept up the balance at the other 
end ; but that end was a desert, with him for its only oasis. 
It was so pathetic to see him, contented, sprawling, Con- 
cord owl that he was and always has been, brought blind- 
fold into the brilliant daylight, and expected to wink and 
be lively like any little dapper Tommy Titmouse or Jenny 
Wren. How he buried his eyes in his plate, and ate with 
a voracity that no person should dare to ask him a ques- 
tion! My heart broke for him as that attenuated X. Y. 
kept putting forth his long antennae toward him, stroking 
his face, and trying whether his eyes were shut. 

The idea I got was, and it was very powerfully impressed 
on me, that we are all monstrously corrupt, hopelessly 
bereft of human consciousness, and that it is the intention 
of the Divine Providence to overrun us and obUterate us 
in a new Gothic and Vandalic invasion, of which this Con- 
cord specimen is a first fruit. It was heavenly to see him 
persist in ignoring X. Y. and shutting his eyes against his 
spectral smiles ; eating his dinner and doing absolutely 

153 



The Friendly Craft 

nothing but that, and then going home to his Concord den 
to fall on his knees and ask his Heavenly Father why it 
was that an owl couldn't remain an owl, and not be forced 
into the diversions of a canary. I have no doubt that all 
the tenderest angels saw to his case that night, and poured 
oil into his wounds more soothing than gentlemen ever 
know. 

Ellery Channing, too, seemed so human and good, — 
sweet as sunshine, and fragrant as pine woods. He is 
more sophisticated than the other, of course, but still he 
was kin ; and I felt the world richer by two 7Jien who had 
not yet lost themselves in mere members of society. This 
is what I suspect, — that we are fast getting so fearful one 
to another, we members of society, that we shall ere long 
begin to kill one another in self defence, and give place 
in that way to a more veracious state of things. The old 
world is breaking up on all hands, — the glimpse of the 
everlasting granite I caught in Hawthorne shows me that 
there is stock enough for fifty better. Let the old imposter 
go, bag and baggage, for a very real and substantial one is 
aching to come in, in which the churl shall not be exalted 
to a place of dignity, in which innocence shall never be 
tarnished nor trafficked in, in which every man's freedom 
shall be respected down to its feeblest filament as the 
radiant altar of God. To the angels, says Swedenborg, 
Death means Resurrection to life ; by that necessary rule 
of inversion which keeps them separate from us and 
us from them, and so prevents our being mutual 
nuisances. . . . 



154 



I 



A Furious Frank 

James Russell Lowell speaks French too politely ^:> 
(To Edwin Lawrence Godkin) 

Elmwood, 29th Dec.^ 1871 

WAS to have started last Monday, but there 
is a furious Frank here who has opened a school 
for his detestable lingo in which Mes dames Lowell and 
Gurney are pupils. He dines with us on alternate Wednes- 
days and compels us to talk French till we are black in 
the face. Last Wednesday week was our day and then 
came a fortnight of vacances. As I pressed his hand at 
parting, of course I told him that we should be glad 
to see him during that halcyon period, and murmured 
a bientot like an ass as I was. That he should not have 
perceived that I was talking French was perhaps excus- 
able enough, but that he should take what I said in a 
brutal Anglo-Saxon way as if I meant it — that I cannot 
so easily forgive. Anyhow, he told Fanny next day that 
he should have the happiness of accepting my ravishing 
invitation for the next Wednesday, as if I had not left 
the matter as much in the air (to use their own phrase) 
as a balloon that may come down weeks away from where 
it started. So there I was planted for this week. If 
you will let me perch with you, I shall come next Monday. 
Company — except yours and that of two or three more — 
I do not want except on the most unwhitechokery terms 
and I come on the express understanding that you are 
to return my visit in the course of the winter. . . . 



155 



I 



•The Friendly Craft 

"The changed perspective" ^o -^^ -^^ <^ <:n^ 
(John G. Whittier to Elizabeth Stuart Phelps) 

\th nio.^ 7, 1878 

AGREE with Canon Farrar that "life is worth 
living," even if one cannot sleep the biggest part 
of it away. Thee and I get more out of it, after all, 
than those "sleek-headed folks who sleep o' nights." . . . 
Against all my natural inclinations, I have been fighting 
for the " causes," half my life. " Woe is me, my mother," 
I can say with the old prophet, " who hast borne me a 
man of strife and contention." I have suffered dreadfully 
from coarseness, self-seeking vanity, and asinine stupidity 
among associates, as well as from the coldness or open 
hostility, and, worst, the ridicule of the outside world, 
but I now see that it was best, and that I needed it 
all. . . . 

Mrs. Briggs listens to Phillips Brooks ^^^ '<:::i>' ^;:^ 

RoxBURY, January^ 11, 1880 

'OW, you can't guess what I have done to-day, 
and such a blessed time as I have had I could 
never tell you about. I announced last night my inten- 
tion to hear Phillips Brooks preach, if I went on foot 
and alone, figuratively speaking. I was not quite so saucy 
as that, but I was emphatic because I meant to do it. So 
it was all nicely arranged ; the next-door neighbor having 
a seat there, and a car going expressly to the church, 
we all went together ; and I found myself in the beautiful 
church in a pew very near the chancel, so there could be 
no difficulty about hearing, and had an opportunity to 
take in the rich, warm, soft coloring and the whole sub- 
dued tone of the building before the service commenced. 

156 



N' 



So Sweet and Tender 

It was very lightly trimmed with wreaths of evergreen, 
which followed the outline of the woodwork so closely 
that it did not interfere at all with any architectural effect, 
and in the chancel were three large spruce-trees, making 
the three points of a triangle. They looked as if they 
were really growing there. The church was filled, really 
full, every seat, with an earnest-looking congregation. . . . 
The music was good, not wonderful ; but the sermon was 
wonderful. Why, I never thought I could at my age be 
so affected by any sermon. " A little child shall lead 
them," was the text. I should not dare to try to give 
you any idea of it ; it would be sacrilege ; but it was 
as warm and loving as any Methodist sermon, devout 
enough to satisfy a Catholic, and broad enough to satisfy 
any decent Radical. Oh, how I did enjoy it! To hear 
that man describe the leading of a child ! — that lone, 
lorn man, without wife or child. I don't see how or when 
he learned his lesson. It was so sweet and tender! Then 
he made me feel how little creeds or abstract thoughts 
are worth unless one can see them carried out in human 
lives, — how that is the way truth must reach us at last, 
through love of humanity, and from that love up to God, 
through our elder brother, whom the preacher made no 
God, nor anything else we could not understand, but a 
living, loving man, who lived always in the bosom of 
the Father. Well, I felt as though I had been living in 
another world, I was so drawn away from myself by those 
earnest words, and Mr. G. said I made the whole car 
full of people listen to my talk. That made me awfully 
ashamed, but you see I never thought of the people at 
all, nor of anything else but what I had heard. . . . 



157 



w 



The Friendly Craft 

Mrs. Longfellow prefers Henry's friends to titled folk 

Steam Ship, German Ocean, 

Thursday^ June ii [1835] 

'E have some very pleasant passengers. A Ger- 
man lady with her father and little girl. What 
a strange idea foreigners have of America ! This lady who 
appears very intelligent asked us if America was anything 
like London ! ! Then we have a German prince with huge 
mustachios ; Clara played whist with him last evening ! 
Oh dear ! I do not know as I shall be able to speak to you 
when I return, I see so many lords and ladies ! but in 
reality these lords and ladies are not half as agreeable 
people as some of Henry's literary friends. Mr. and Mrs. 
Carlyle have more genuine worth and talent than half of 
the nobility in London. Mr. Carlyle's literary fame is very 
high, and she is a very talented woman — but they are 
people after my own heart — not the least pretension about 
them. Mrs. Carlyle has a pin with Goethe's head upon it, 
which that great author sent her himself. She is very 
proud of it I assure you. They live very retired, not wish- 
ing to mix with fashionable society, which they regard in 
its true light ; still they have some friends among the 
nobility who know how to value them. . . . 

Ralph Waldo Emerson commends Margaret Fuller to 
Thomas and Jane Carlyle '"^:> -^^i^ ^v:> -^r^ 

Concord, sijufy, 1846 

MY DEAR FRIEND, — The new edition of Cro7nwell 
in its perfect form and in excellent dress, and the 
copy of the Appendix, came munificently safe by the last 
steamer. When thought is best, then is there most, — is 
a faith of which you alone among writing men at this day 

158 



An Exotic in New England 

will give me experience. If it is the right frankincense 
and sandal-wood, it is so good and heavenly to give me a 
basketful and not a pinch. I read proudly, a little at a 
time, and have not yet got through the new matter. But 
I think neither the new letters nor the commentary could 
be spared. Wiley and Putnam shall do what they can, 
and we will see if New England will not come to reckon 
this the best chapter in her Pentateuch. 

I send this letter by Margaret Fuller, of whose approach 
I believe I wrote you some word. There is no foretelHng 
how you visited and crowded English will like our few 
educated men or women, and in your learned populace my 
luminaries may easily be overlooked. But of all the 
travellers whom you have so kindly received from me, 
I think of none, since Alcott went to England, whom I so 
much desired that you should see and like, as this dear old 
friend of mine. For two years now I have scarcely seen 
her, as she has been at New York, engaged by Horace 
Greeley as a literary editor of his Tribune newspaper. 
This employment was made acceptable to her by good 
pay, great local and personal conveniences of all kinds, 
and unbounded confidence and respect from Greeley him- 
self, and all other parties connected with this influential 
journal (of 30,000 subscribers, I believe). And Margaret 
Fuller^s work as critic of all new books, critic of the drama, 
of music, and good arts in New York, has been honorable 
to her. Still this employment is not satisfactory to me. 
She is full of all nobleness, and with the generosity native 
to her mind and character appears to me an exotic in New 
England, a foreigner from some more sultry and expansive 
climate. She is, I suppose, the earliest reader and lover 
of Goethe in this Country, and nobody here knows him so 
well. Her love too of whatever is good in French, and 
specially in Italian genius, give her the best title to travel. 

159 



The Friendly Craft 

In short, she is our citizen of the world by quite special 
diploma. And I am heartily glad that she has an oppor- 
tunity of going abroad that pleases her. 

Mr. Spring, a merchant of great moral merits, (and, as 
I am informed, an assiduous reader of your books,) has 
grown rich, and resolves to see the world with his wife and 
son, and has wisely invited Miss Fuller to show it to him. 
Now, in the first place, I wish you to see Margaret when 
you are in special good humor, and have an hour of bound- 
less leisure. And I entreat Jane Carlyle to abet and 
exalt and secure this satisfaction to me. I need not, and 
yet perhaps I need say, that M. F. is the safest of all pos- 
sible persons who ever took pen in hand. Prince Metter- 
nich's closet not closer or half so honorable. In the next 
place, I should be glad if you can easily manage to show 
her the faces of Tennyson and of Browning. She has a 
sort of right to them both, not only because she likes their 
poetry, but because she has made their merits widely 
known among our young people. And be it known to my 
friend Jane Carlyle, whom, if I cannot see, I delight to 
name, that her visitor is an immense favorite in the parlor, 
as well as in the library, in all good houses where she is 
known. And so I commend her to you. 
Yours affectionately, 

R. W. Emerson 

Miss Fuller goes accordingly and communicates the 
result ^;:> ^;:^ ^^^ ^:> ^^^ ^::> ^v:> 

(To Ralph Waldo Emerson) 

Paris, Dec.^ 1846 

ACCUSTOMED to the infinite wit and exuberant 
richness of his [Carlyle's] writings, his talk is 
still an amazement and a splendor scarcely to be faced with 

160 



Heroic Arrogance 

steady eyes. He does not converse; — only harangues. 
It is the usual misfortune of such marked men, — happily 
not one invariable or inevitable, — that they cannot allow 
other minds room to breathe, and show themselves in 
their atmosphere, and thus miss the refreshment and 
instruction which the greatest never cease to need from 
the experience of the humblest. Carlyle allows no one a 
chance, but bears down all opposition, not only by his wit 
and onset of words, resistless in their sharpness as so 
many bayonets, but by actual physical superiority, — 
raising his voice, and rushing on his opponent with a 
torrent of sound. This is not in the least from unwilling- 
ness to allow freedom to others. On the contrary, no 
man would more enjoy a manly resistance to his thought. 
But it is the habit of a mind accustomed to follow out its 
own impulse, as the hawk its prey, and which knows not 
how to stop in the chase. Carlyle, indeed, is arrogant and 
overbearing ; but in his arrogance there is no littleness, — 
no self-love. It is the heroic arrogance of some old Scan- 
dinavian conqueror ; — it is his nature, and the untamable 
energy that has given him power to crush the dragons. 
You do not love him, perhaps, nor revere ; and perhaps, 
also, he would only laugh at you if you did ; but you like 
him heartily, and like to see him the powerful smith, the 
Siegfried, melting all the old iron in his furnace till it 
glows to a sunset red, and burns you, if you senselessly 
go too near. He seems, to me, quite isolated, — lonely as 
the desert, — yet never was a man more fitted to prize a 
man, could he find one to match his mood. He finds 
them, but only in the past. He sings, rather than talks. 
He pours upon you a kind *of satirical, heroical, critical 
poem, with regular cadences, and generally, near the 
beginning hits upon some singular epithet, which serves 
as a refrain when his song is full, or with which, as with 
M i6i 



The Friendly Craft 

a knitting needle, he catches up the stitches, if he has 
chanced, now and then, to let fall a row. For the higher 
kinds of poetry he has no sense, and his talk on that sub- 
ject is delightfully and gorgeously absurd. He sometimes 
stops a minute to laugh at it himself, then begins anew 
with fresh vigor ; for all the spirits he is driving before 
him seem to him as Fata Morgana, ugly masks, in fact, if 
he can but make them turn about ; but he laughs that they 
seem to others such dainty Ariels. His talk, like his 
books, is full of pictures ; his critical strokes masterly. 
Allow for his point of view, and his survey is admirable. 
He is a large subject. I cannot speak more or wiselier of 
him now, nor needs it ; — his works are true, to blame and 
praise him, — the Siegfried of England, — great and power- 
ful, if not quite invulnerable, and of a might rather to 
destroy evil, than legislate for good. . . . 

After fourteen years Emerson and Carlyle are " shov- 
elled together again " '^:> '"^:^ ^^y ^^::^ ^^^^^ 

(Ralph Waldo Emerson to his wife) 

Chelsea, London, October 27, 1847 

DEAR LIDIAN : . . . I found at Liverpool after a 
couple of days a letter which had been once there 
seeking me (and once returned to Manchester before it 
reached my hands) from Carlyle, addressed to " R. W. E., 
on the instant he lands in England," conveying so hearty 
a welcome and so urgent an invitation to house and hearth 
that I could no more resist than I could gravitation ; and 
finding that I should not be wanted for a week in the lec- 
ture-rooms, I came hither on Monday, and, at ten at night, 
the door was opened to me by Jane Carlyle, and the man 
himself was behind her with a lamp in the entry. They 

162 



Large Communication 

were very little changed from their old selves of fourteen 
years ago (in August), when I left them at Craigenput- 
tock. ^^Well," said Carlyle, "here we are, shovelled 
together again." The floodgates of his talk are quickly 
opened, and the river is a great and constant stream. We 
had large communication that night until nearly one 
o'clock, and at breakfast next morning it began again. At 
noon or later we went together, Carlyle and I, to Hyde 
Park and the palaces (about two miles from here), to the 
National Gallery, and to the Strand, — Carlyle melting all 
Westminster and London down into his talk and laughter 
as he walked. We came back to dinner at five or later; 
then Dr. Carlyle came in and spent the evening, which 
again was long by the clock, but had no other measures. 
Here in this house we breakfast about nine ; Carlyle is 
very apt, his wife says, to sleep till ten or eleven, if he has 
no company. An immense talker he is, and altogether as 
extraordinary in his conversation as in his writing, — I 
think even more so. You will never discover his real 
vigor and range, or how much more he might do than he 
has ever done, without seeing him. I find my few hours' 
discourse with him in Scotland, long since, gave me not 
enough knowledge of him, and I have now at last been 
taken by surprise. . . . Carlyle and his wife live on beau- 
tiful terms. Nothing can be more engaging than their 
ways, and in her bookcase all his books are inscribed 
to her, as they came, from year to year, each with some 
significant lines. . . . 

November i, Tuesday evening. — \ am heartily tired of 
Liverpool. I am oppressed by the seeing of such multi- 
tudes : there is a fierce strength here in all the streets ; 
the men are bigger and solider far than our people, more 
stocky, both men and women, and with a certain fixedness 
and determination in each person's air, that discriminates 

163 



The Friendly Craft 

them from the sauntering gait and roving eyes of Ameri- 
cans. In America you catch the eye of every one you 
meet ; here you catch no eye, almost. The axes of an 
EngHshman's eyes, are united to his backbone. . . . Yes- 
terday morning I got your welcome letter (by Mr. Ireland). 
I am greatly contented to know that all is so well with 
you. . . . 

Ever affectionately yours, 

Waldo E. 

Charles Sumner sees the Queen open Parliament, and 
finds Macaulay oppressive ^=:::> ^:> ^^^ '^:> 

(To George S. Hillard) 

Travellers', [London,] Feb. i6, 1839 

DEAR HILLARD, — Perhaps this is my last greeting 
from London ; and yet it is hard to tear myself 
away, so connected by friendship and by social ties have 
I become with this great circle ; and 1 will not venture 
to write down the day when I shall leave. My last was 
a volume rather than a letter; and I have again such stores 
to communicate as to call for another volume. Parliament 
is now open, and I have been a constant attendant ; but 
I will first tell you of its opening and of the speech of 
the Queen. I was accommodated through the kindness 
of Lord Morpeth with a place at the bar, — perhaps it was 
the best place occupied by any person not in court dress. 
Behind me was the Prince Louis Bonaparte. It was a 
splendid sight, as at the coronation, to watch the peer- 
esses as they took their seats in full dress, resplendent 
with jewels and costly ornaments ; and from the smallness 
of the room all were within a short distance. The room 
of the House of Lords is a little longer but not so wide as 

164 



Although a Queen, a Woman 

our College Chapel, at Cambridge. The Queen entered, 
attended by the great officers of state, with her heavy 
crown on her head, the great guns sounding, and the 
trumpets adding to the glow of the scene. She took her 
seat with sufficient dignity, and in an inaudible voice 
directed the Commons to be summoned. In the mean 
time, all eyes were directed to her. Her countenance 
was flushed, her hands moved on the golden arms of the 
throne, and her fingers twitched in her gloves. There 
she was, a Queen; but a Queen's nerves and heart are 
those of a woman, and she showed that little nervousness 
and restlessness which amply vindicated her sympathy 
with us all. And yet she bore herself well, and many, 
whose eyes were not as observing as you know mine are, 
did not note these pleasing tokens. I was glad to see 
them, more by far than if she had sat as if cut in alabas- 
ter. The Commons came in with a thundering rush, their 
Speaker at their head. Her Majesty then commenced 
reading her speech which had been previously handed to 
her by the Lord Chancellor. It was a quarter or a third 
through before she seemed to get her voice so that I could 
understand her. In the paragraph about Belgium, I first 
caught all that she said, and every word of the rest of her 
speech came to me in as silver accents as I have ever 
heard. You well know I had no predisposition to admire 
the Queen, or anything that proceeds from her; but her 
reading has conquered my judgment. I was astonished 
and delighted. Her voice was sweet, and finely modu- 
lated, and she pronounced every word slowly and dis- 
tinctly, with a just regard to its meaning. I think I have 
never heard anything better read in my life than was her 
speech ; and I could but respond to Lord Fitzwilliam's 
remark to me when the ceremony was over, " How beauti- 
fully she performs ! " . . . 

i6s 



The Friendly Craft 

At dinner Adolphus was as quiet as usual, — you know 
him as the friend of Scott, — and Macaulay was truly 
oppressive. I now understand Sydney Smith, who called 
Macaulay a tremendous machine for colloquial oppression. 
His memory is prodigious, surpassing any thing I have 
ever known, and he pours out its stores with an instruc- 
tive but dinning prodigality. He passes from the minutest 
dates of English history or biography to a discussion of 
the comparative merits of different ancient orators, and 
gives you whole strophes from the dramatists at will. He 
can repeat every word of every article he has written, with- 
out prompting : but he has neither grace of body, face, nor 
voice ; he is without intonation or variety ; and he pours 
on like Horace's river, while we, poor rustics, foolishly 
think he will cease ; and if you speak, he does not respond 
to what you say, but, while your last words are yet on 
your lips, takes up again his wondrous tale. He will not 
confess ignorance of any thing, though I verily believe 
that no man would ever have less occasion to make the 
confession. I have heard him called the most remarkable 
person of his age ; and again the most overrated. . . . 

Washington Irving visits Mr. Scott at Abbotsford --s^ 
(To Peter Irving) 

Abbotsford, Sept. i, 1817 

MY DEAR BROTHER: 
I have barely time to scrawl a line before the 
gossoon goes off with the letters to the neighboring post- 
ofBce. . . . 

On Friday, in spite of sullen, gloomy weather, I mounted 
the top of the mail coach, and rattled off to Selkirk. It 
rained heavily in the course of the afternoon, and drove 

166 



Scott's Golden Heart 

me inside. On Saturday morning early I took chaise 
for Melrose ; and on the way stopped at the gate of 
Abbotsford, and sent in my letter of introduction, with 
a request to know whether it would be agreeable for Mr. 
Scott to receive a visit from me in the course of the day. 
The glorious old minstrel himself came limping to the 
gate, took me by the hand in a way that made me feel 
as if we were old friends ; in a moment I was seated 
at his hospitable board among his charming little family, 
and here have I been ever since. I had intended certainly 
being back to Edinburgh to-day, (Monday,) but Mr. Scott 
wishes me to stay until Wednesday, that we may make 
excursions to Dryburgh Abbey, Yarrow, &c., as the 
weather has held up and the sun begins to shine. I 
cannot tell how truly I have enjoyed the hours I have 
passed here. They fly by too quick, yet each is loaded 
with story, incident, or song ; and when I consider the 
world of ideas, images, and impressions that have been 
crowded upon my mind since I have been here, it seems 
incredible that I should only have been two days at 
Abbotsford. I have rambled about the hills with Scott ; 
visited the haunts of Thomas the Rhymer, and other spots 
rendered classic by border tale and witching song, and 
have been in a kind of dream or delirium. 

As to Scott, I cannot express my delight at his char- 
acter and manners. He is a sterling golden-hearted old 
worthy, full of the joyousness of youth, with an imagina- 
tion continually furnishing forth picture, and a charming 
simplicity of manner that puts you at ease with him in a 
moment. It has been a constant source of pleasure to me 
to remark his deportment towards his family, his neigh- 
bors, his domestics, his very dogs and cats ; every thing 
that comes within his influence seems to catch a beam of 
that sunshine that plays round his heart ; but I shall say 

167 



The Friendly Craft 

more of him hereafter, for he is a theme on which I shall 
love to dwell. . . . 

Your affectionate brother, 

VV. I. 

P.S. — This morning we ride to Dryburgh Abbey and 
see also the old Earl of Buchan — who, you know, is a 
queer one. . . . 

Later he meets Sir Walter in London ^:::^ -^^r^ <:^ 
(To James K. Paulding) 

London, May 27, 1820 

MY DEAR JAMES : 
. . . Scott, or Sir Walter Scott, as he is now- 
called, passed some few weeks in town lately, on coming 
up for his baronetcy. I saw him repeatedly, having 
formed an acquaintance with him two or three years since 
at his country retreat on the Tweed. He is a man that, 
if you knew, you would love ; a right honest-hearted, gen- 
erous-spirited being ; without vanity, affectation, or as- 
sumption of any kind. He enters into every passing scene 
or passing pleasure with the interest and simple enjoy- 
ment of a child ; nothing seems too high or remote for the 
grasp of his mind, and nothing too trivial or low for the 
kindness and pleasantry of his spirit. When I was in 
want of literary counsel and assistance, Scott was the only 
literary man to whom I felt that I could talk about myself 
and my petty concerns with the confidence and freedom 
that I would to an old friend — nor was I deceived — from 
the first moment that I mentioned my work to him in a 
letter, he took a decided and effective interest in it, and 
has been to me an invaluable friend. It is only astonish- 
ing how he finds time, with such ample exercise of the 
pen, to attend so much to the interests and concerns of 

168 



The Baths of Lucca 

others ; but no one ever applied to Scott for any aid, 
counsel, or service that would cost time and trouble, that 
was not most cheerfully and thoroughly assisted. Life 
passes away with him in a round of good offices and 
social enjoyments. Literature seems his sport rather 
than his labor or his ambition, and I never met with an 
author so completely void of all the petulance, egotism, 
and peculiarities of the craft ; but I am running into 
prolixity about Scott, who I confess has completely won 
my heart, even more as a man than as an author ; so, 
praying God to bless him, we will change the sub- 
ject. . . . 

Affectionately your friend, 

W. Irving 
Peter, who is sitting by me, desires me to remember him 
most heartily to you and Gertrude. 

The Storys care for no society but that of the 
Brownings ^^^ <:> ^;:^ ^^ ^> '<o ^::> 

(William Wetmore Story to James Russell Lowell) 
Bagna di Lucca, Aug. loth, 1853 

WE are all at the Baths of Lucca now, high up 
on the hills, amid the thick chestnut-trees, 
retired from the bustle of the Ponte below, where gossip 
simmers round the cafe, and we are living the most dolce 
far niente of lives. The place is beautiful. All about us 
tower the mountains, terraced with vines and noble groups 
of chestnuts, and through the valley below sings our 
mountain-brook river as it sweeps under its one-arched 
bridges^ turns picturesque mills, and goes winding along 
through its rocky bed to the Mediterranean. Every 
evening we drive along the richly-wooded banks of the 
wild, roaring Lima, or else beside the rushing Serchio, 

169 



The Friendly Craft 



where Shelley used to push his little boat, to the Devil's 
Bridge. I have never lived an idler life. While the wind 
blows through the windows coolly we sit and read and 
fall asleep over our books — and feel intensely virtuous 
when we achieve a letter. Of society there is none we 
care to meet but the Brownings, who are living here. 
With them we have constant and delightful intercourse, 
interchanging long evenings together two or three times 
a-week, and driving and walking whenever we can meet. 
We like them very much — they are so simple, unaffected 
and sympathetic. Both are busily engaged in writing, he 
on a new volume of lyrical poems and she on a tale or 
novel in verse. . . . Both B. and his wife seem greatly 
to have taken to you and M., and we all join in standing 
on the ramparts and waving our handkerchiefs for you to 
return. . . . 



Pictures, the Brownings, and supper at Evans's -^^r^ 

(Thomas Gold Appleton to Henry W. Longfellow, from 
London, 1856) 

. . . TMAGINE what zeal, patience, boldness, and love 
-■- of Nature are in these [pre-Raphaelite] pictures ; 
and with these the Anglo-Saxon awkwardness, crudity, and 
poor sentiment. Still, after seeing the Vernon collection, 
one can't but think better and better of the direction of the 
new school. One thing I find not stated of it, — how much 
it owes to the daguerrotype. The fine, minute finish, and 
the breadth at the same time they give ; and absolutely 
they manage to have the same defects, — edginess and 
want of roundness. I met the Brownings at the Gallery 
yesterday, and put them on the way to see Hilary Curtis's 
picture, which I hunted up. The Brownings are a happy 

170 



A Concentrated Nightingale 

couple, — happy in their affection and their genius. He is 
a fine, fresh, open nature, full of life and spring, and evi- 
dently has little of the dreamy element of Wordsworth and 
others. She is a little concentrated nightingale, living in a 
bower of curls, her heart throbbing against the bars of the 
world. I called on them, and she looked at me wistfully, 
as she believes in the Spirits and had heard of me. Lady 
Byron, too, has sent for me to talk about it ; but I do not 
know that I shall find time to go. Lowell has turned up, 
and after dining with the Storys and myself at a grand 
dinner at Sturgis's the day before, they spent the day with 
me and dined, and to-night I am to join them at Windsor. 
I hear of dear old T. Kensett and Taylor, but have not got 
at them. Hazard is on the horizon. I wonder if he will 
walk the coast, as he proposed. Ticknor looks wonderfully 
natural in the Twistleton house. It has a library, the his- 
toric background for him, and the Dwight Allston, looking 
well. He invited, the other day, Mackintosh and myself 
to meet Thackeray. It was very pleasant. Thackeray 
seemed to remember the Yankee sunshine, and expanded, 
and looked well, though but lately recovering from an ill- 
ness. He proposed going to Evans's after the dinner; so 
Mackintosh drove us down. The proprietor made great 
ado and honor. The same scene Hawthorne described to 
you was enacted. We had a seat of honor at the head of 
the table, and nice copies of the songs were given us. 
Much mention was made of you, and the earnest request 
that you would favor by a visit when you come to England. 
It was fun. The head was a character worthy of Dickens. 
In the midst of beefsteaks and tobacco he dilated on the 
charms of early editions, and showed us some. Deprecat- 
ing the character of the music, he nudged me and said, 
that, like myself, he should prefer Beethoven and Mozart 
but if he gave them he should starve. The singing was 

171 



The Friendly Craft 

chiefly comic, and not bad ; but one French piece, by some 
sixteen juveniles, had a lovely boy with a lovely voice 
piping clear, sweet, and high, like a lark, Thackeray was in 
raptures with that boy. Thackeray called on me, and I 
must try to find him. He lives in a very pretty square not 
far from Ticknor's. Mackintosh and I have driven down 
to Chelsea ; missed Carlyle. There is a good, fierce picture 
of him in the Exhibition. 

I very much wish you were here. I am for the Continent, 
and want a party. Had a long talk with J. P. K. on poli- 
tics ; Southern view ; gave him a Northern one ; delighted 
probably with each other. We now hear that Sumner is 
worse. Truly I hope that is not so. There is heat enough 
in the contest already, without any more disaster in that 
direction. If he should die, Achilles would rage in the 
Trojan trenches. 

Love to dearest F., and say how much we all wish you 
were here, and what a bumper you would have. . . . 

John Lothrop Motley feels " like a donkey '^ when 
compUmented by a great lady '<;^ ^;:> -<;:> ^;:> 



(To his wife) 



London, 



May 28th, 1858 

MY DEAREST MARY, — ... I believe you have 
never seen Thackeray. He has the appearance of a 
colossal infant, smooth, white, shiny ringlety hair, flaxen, 
alas, with advancing years, a roundish face, with a little 
dab of a nose upon which it is a perpetual wonder how he 
keeps his spectacles, a sweet but rather piping voice, with 
something of the childish treble about it, and a very tall, 
slightly stooping figure — such are the characteristics of 
the great '' snob '' of England. His manner is like that of 

172 



Blushing like a Peony 

everybody else in England — nothing original, all planed 
down into perfect uniformity with that of his fellow- 
creatures. . . . 

On Thursday, according to express and very urgent 

invitation, I went with Mrs. Amory and S to call at the 

Lyndhursts'. As soon as I got into the room Lady L. 
opened upon me such a torrent of civilities that I was 
nearly washed away. I certainly should not repeat, even 
to you, and even if I remembered it, the particular phrase- 
ology. ... I would no more write such things, even to 
my mother, than I would go and stand on my head in 
the middle of Pall Mall. I feel like a donkey, and am 
even now blushing unseen, like a peony or any other 
delicate flower, at the very idea of writing such trash, 
and I beg that you will thrust my letter into the fire at 
once. . . . God bless you, dearest Mary ; kiss my dar- 
ling children, and believe in the love of 

Your affectionate, 

J. L. M. 

From the " Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley," edited by George 
William Curtis. Copyright, 1889, by J. Lewis Stackpole. 

Bayard Taylor hears Tennyson read ^' The Idylls of 
the King," and likes Matthew Arnold at first sight 

GoTHA, Germany, March ii, 1867 

WE landed at Southampton in heavenly May 
weather, and I determined to visit Farring- 
ford before going on to London. So I wrote at once to 
Tennyson, proposing a visit of an hour or two. Next 
morning came a friendly reply from Mrs. T., saying that 
there was a room ready for us, and we must make a longer 
visit. M. and I crossed to Cowes and Newport, and took 
a " fly " to Farringford, distant twelve miles ; a glorious 

^11 



The Friendly Craft 

drive across the Isle of Wight, between ivied hedges and 
past gardens of laurel and lauristinus in blossom. Green 
meadows, cowslips, daisies, and hyacinths, — think of that 
for February 2ist! I found Farringford wonderfully im- 
proved : the little park is a gem of gardening art. The 
magnificent Roman ilexes in front of the house are finer 
than any I saw in Italy. We arrived about three o'clock, 
and were ushered into the drawing-room. The house has 
been refurnished, and a great many pictures and statues 
added since I was there. In a minute in came Tennyson, 
cordial as an old friend, followed by his wife. In Tenny- 
son himself I could see no particular change. He did not 
seem older than when I saw him last. We walked through 
the park and garden; then M. returned to the house, 
while he and I went up on the downs, and walked for 
miles along the chalk cliffs above the sea. He was 
delightfully free and confidential, and I wish I could write 
to you much of what he said ; but it was so inwrought with 
high philosophy and broad views of life that a fragment 
here and there would not fairly represent him. He showed 
me all his newly acquired territory ; among the rest, a 
great stretch of wheat-fields bought for him by " Enoch 
Arden." We dined at six in a quaint room hung with 
pictures, and then went to the drawing-room for dessert. 
Tennyson and I retired to his study at the top of the 
house, lit pipes, and talked of poetry. He asked me if I 
could read his ^' Boadicea.'" I thought I could. "Read 
it, and let me see ! '' said he. " I would rather hear you 
read it ! '' I answered. Thereupon he did so, chanting 
the lumbering lines with great unction. I spoke of the 
idyl of Guinivere as being perhaps his finest poem, and 
said that I could not read it aloud without my voice break- 
ing down at certain passages. "Why, I can read it, and 
keep my voice ! '' he exclaimed triumphantly. This I 

174 



Sherry and the " Idylls " 

doubted, and he agreed to try, after we went down to our 
wives. But the first thing he did was to produce a mag- 
num of wonderful sherry, thirty years old, which had been 
sent him by a poetic wine-dealer. Such wine I never 
tasted. '' It was meant to be drunk by Cleopatra, or 
Catharine of Russia,'' said Tennyson. We had two 
glasses apiece, when he said, ^^ To-night you shall help me 
drink one of the few bottles of my Waterloo, — 1815." 
The bottle was brought, and after another glass all around 
Tennyson took up the ^^ Idylls of the King." His reading 
is a strange, monotonous chant, with unexpected falling 
inflections, which I cannot describe, but can imitate 
exactly. It is very impressive. In spite of myself I became 
very much excited as he went on. Finally, when Arthur 
forgives the Queen, Tennyson's voice fairly broke. I found 
tears on my cheeks, and M. and Mrs. Tennyson were 
crying, one on either side of me. He made an effort, and 
went on to the end, closing grandly. " How can you say,'' 
I asked (referring to previous conversation) " that you have 
no surety of permanent fame ? This poem will only die 
with the language in which it is written." Mrs. Tennyson 
started up from her couch. '^ It is true ! " she exclaimed. 
'^ I have told Alfred the same thing." 

After that we went up to the garret to smoke and talk. 
Tennyson read the " Hylas " of Theocritus in Greek, his 
own " Northern Farmer," and Andrew Marvell's " Coy 
Mistress." . . . We parted at two o'clock, and met again 
at nine in the breakfast room. I had arranged to leave at 
noon, so there were only three hours left, but I had them 
with him on the lawn, and in the nook under the roof. 
. . . Tennyson said at parting, " The gates are always 
open to you." His manner was altogether more cordial 
and intimate than at my first visit. He took up the 
acquaintance where it first broke off, and had forgotten 

^75 



The Friendly Craft 

no word (neither had I) of our conversation ten years 
ago. When I spoke of certain things in his poetry, which 
I specially valued, he said more than once, " But the 
critics blame me for just that. It is only now and then 
a man like yourself who sees what I meant to do." He is 
very sensitive to criticism, I find, but perhaps not more 
than the rest of us ; only one sees it more clearly in 
another. Our talk was to me delightful ; it was as free 
and frank as if you had been in his place. ... I felt, 
when I left Farringford, that I had a friend's right to return 
again. 

Soon after reaching London, I called on dear old Barry 
Cornwall, who has taken a great liking to Lorry Graham. 
Mrs. Procter invited both of us and our wives to a literary 
soiree at their house. In the mean time Lorry took me 
with him to call on Matthew Arnold. He is a man to 
like, if not love, at first sight. His resemblance to George 
Curtis struck both of us. A little more stoutly built, more 
irregularly masculine features, but the same general char- 
acter of man, with the same full, mellow voice. After 
Thackeray, I think I should soon come to like him better 
than any other Englishman. His eyes sparkled when I 
told him that I always kept his poems on my library table. 
He said they were not popular, and he was always a little 
surprised when any one expressed a particular liking for 
them. I did not make a long visit, knowing that he was 
run down with government work. . . . 

M. joins me in dearest love to you and L. Would you 
could be here a while to rest your busy brain ! It is late 
at night, and I must close. Pray write to me some quiet 
Sunday morning, when you have leisure, and write me all 
the news. Recollect, I am absent and you are at home, 
so your letters are worth the most. Vale ! . . . 



176 



A 



An Uncertain Reception 

Margaret Fuller suffers mauvaise honte before visiting 
George Sand ^^^ ^:^ ^^::>' ^q> ^;:> ^^^ 

Naples, March ij^ 1847 

T last, however, she [George Sand] came ; and 
I went to see her at her house. Place d'Orleans. 
I found it a handsome modern residence. She had not 
answered my letter, written about a week before, and I 
felt a little anxious lest she should not receive me ; for 
she is too much the mark of impertinent curiosity, as well 
as too busy, to be easily accessible to strangers. I am by 
no means timid, but I have suffered, for the first time in 
France, some of the torments of mauvaise honte, enough 
to see what they must be to many. 

It is the custom to go and call on those to whom you 
bring letters, and push yourself upon their notice ; thus 
you must go quite ignorant whether they are disposed to 
be cordial. My name is always murdered by the foreign 
servants who announce me. I speak very bad French ; 
only lately have I had sufficient command of it to infuse 
some of my natural spirit in my discourse. This has been 
a great trial to me, who am eloquent and free in my own 
tongue, to be forced to feel my thoughts struggling in vain 
for utterance. 

The servant who admitted me was in the picturesque 
costume of a peasant, and, as Madame Sand afterward 
told me, her god-daughter, whom she had brought from 
her province. She announced me as " Mada?ne Salere,'''' 
and returned into the ante-room to tell me, " Madame says 
she does not know yon ^^ I began to think I was doomed 
to a rebuff, among the crowd who deserve it. However, 
to make assurance sure, I said, "Ask if she has not 
received a letter from me." As I spoke, Madame S. 
opened the door, and stood looking at me an instant. 
N 177 



The Friendly Craft 

Our eyes met. I never shall forget her look at that 
moment. The doorway made a frame for her figure ; she 
is large, but well-formed. She was dressed in a robe of 
dark violet silk, with a black mantle on her shoulders, her 
beautiful hair dressed with the greatest taste, her whole 
appearance and attitude, in its simple and ladylike dignity, 
presenting an almost ludicrous contrast to the vulgar cari- 
cature idea of George Sand. Her face is a very little like 
the portraits, but much finer ; the upper part of the fore- 
head and eyes are beautiful, the lower, strong and mas- 
culine, expressive of a hardy temperament and strong 
passions, but not in the least coarse ; the complexion 
olive, and the air of the whole head Spanish, (as, indeed, 
she was born at Madrid, and is only on one side of French 
blood.) All these details I saw at a glance ; but what 
fixed my attention was the expression of goodjiess, noble- 
ness, and power, that pervaded the whole, — the truly 
human heart and nature that shone in the eyes. As our 
eyes met, she said, '• Cest vous^'^'' and held out her hand. 
I took it, and went into her little study ; we sat down a 
moment, then I said, " // ine fait de Men de vous voir,'''* 
and I am sure I said it with my whole heart, for it made 
me very happy to see such a woman, so large and so 
developed a character, and everything that is good in it 
so really good. I loved, shall always love her. 

She looked away, and said, " Ah ! vous iii'avez ecrit une 
lettre charmantey This was all the preliminary of our 
talk, which then went on as if we had always known one 
another. . . . 

Her way of talking is just like her writing, — lively, 
picturesque, with an undertone of deep feeling, and the 
same skill in striking the nail on the head every now and 
then with a blow. 

We did not talk at all of personal or private matters. I 

178 



Cigarette Smoking 



saw, as one sees in her writings, the want of an inde- 
pendent, interior hfe, but I did not feel it as a fault, there 
is so much in her of her kind. I heartily enjoyed the 
sense of so rich, so prolific, so ardent a genius. I liked 
the woman in her, too, very much ; I never liked a woman 
better. . . . 

I forgot to mention, that, while talking, she does smoke 
all the time her little cigarette. This is now a common 
practice among ladies abroad, but I believe originated with 
her. . . . 

George Bancroft holds familiar intercourse with Gen- 
eral Moltke ^^::> ^::> ^Oy ^;:> ^:> ^^^ 

I 

(To C. E. Detmold) 

Berlin, 29 December^ 1868 

HAVE just come in from my ride ; the sun bright, 
the earth free from frost, the temperature at 45 or 
more of Fahrenheit, and so it has been for the last fort- 
night. This too in the latitude of the Southern part of 
Labrador, with the night 16 h. 25' long and the sun during 
the short day stealing along the southern edge of the 
horizon. My companion is often General Moltke, who is 
very nearly the same age as myself. Three weeks ago 1 
was riding with him, we passed a Count who looked older 
than either of us. " He looks," said Moltke, '' much older 
than he is ; he has used his body more than his mind.'' 
We fell upon the question whether men as they come near 
their end would like to begin the battle of Hfe anew. 
" Who," said the General, ^' would live his Hfe over again? 
I would not mine. The old story of the Hindoo philoso- 
pher is true, when he said this life is a punishment for 

179 



I 



The Friendly Craft 



T 



transgressions committed under an earlier form of being." 
All this he spoke deliberately and emphatically, and this 
man is one of the two most honoured men in Germany. 
As we passed along, every one took off his hat and bowed 
to him ; as we passed a restaurant a crowd filled the win- 
dow to greet him as he rode by. It seemed as if every eye 
that saw him gave him a blessing, and every voice was 
raised to bear witness to him ; and yet life had for him no 
attractions ; and the thought of renewing it on earth was 
one from which he shrunk with horror. . . . 

11 
(To Mrs. J. C. Bancroft Davis) 

January 2, 1869 
*ODAY in my ride I came in sight of General 
Moltke with whom I have formed habits of 
friendship. The day before Christmas his wife "After 
twenty-seven years of happiest married life," as he himself 
said, died after a short and terribly painful illness. To 
have forced myself on him might have been an intrusion, 
to turn away from him my heart forbade. So I rode up to 
him, turned my horse and accompanied. He is called the 
silent ; with me he talks much and with openness. A 
moment or two we walked our horses in silence : I only 
have expressed my grief in the fewest but very sincere 
words. Presently he observed: "The attack was severe; 
the best physicians, the most careful treatment were of no 
avail ; it was not possible to save her life." We went on 
and again he spoke : " I have taken her to Creisau (his 
place in Silesia) and have placed her in the church (which 
was on his estate) buried under the palms and wreaths of 
flowers that were heaped upon her. I have selected a spot 
on high ground, commanding a beautiful view ; and then 
in the spring I shall build a vault to receive her" (and the 

180 



A Happy Married Life 

thought not uttered was, to receive himself too when he 
should come to die) ; " She was so much younger than I,^' 
said he, ^^ she should have outlived me ; but when that 
was spoken of, she used to say, that she had no desire to 
survive me long." I said repeating his words : " Twenty- 
seven years of happiest married life are a great blessing." 
"Thank God for all that," he answered and then spoke of 
her illness. She had charged him if danger of life came, 
he should tell her of it, that they might once more par- 
take of the Abend7nahl (the Lord's supper) together. 
"After all," said he, "perhaps she died opportunely to 
escape terrible trials. Happy in the moment of her death, 
in so far as she left her country in repose and happiness. 
Who knows what disaster may arise? Who knows what 
mad scheme Beust may conjure up? Thank God you 
Americans at least are truly our friends." Moltke holds 
the post which throws upon him all the anxiety and re- 
sponsibiUty of keeping the Prussian Army ready to take the 
field at an instant, if Napoleon should suddenly engage 
in carrying out his ambitious plans of aggrandisement for 
France. 

Moltke held out his hand, and pressed mine cordially, 
as he left the park for home. I prolonged my ride and 
presently Count Bismarck trotted past me ; just as he had 
gone by me he recognized me and turned to speak with 
me. He was looking for his daughter and presently she 
came in sight, well mounted, attended by another young 
lady and by her brother and a large group of gay com- 
panions. We turned to go home, as it was now late ; 
just then the King in a light open carriage drove past, and 
as he greeted us most smilingly, looked amazed to see 
a crowd of riders together. Bismarck began and talked 
on the branches of the great German family, and proved 
us all to be Saxons. . . . 

i8i 



The Friendly Craft 

John Lothrop Motley visits Prince Bismarck ^> ^::> 

(To his wife) 

Varzin, 

July 25th, 1872 

MY DEAREST MARY, — . . . 
We had an hour and a half's drive from the sta- 
tion to Varzin. As the postilion sounded his trumpet and 

we drove up to the door, Bismarck, his wife, M , and 

H , all came out to the carriage and welcomed us in 

the most affectionate manner. I found him very little 
changed in appearance since '64, which surprises me. He 
is somewhat stouter, and his face more weather-beaten, but 
as expressive and powerful as ever. Madame de Bismarck 
is but little altered in the fourteen years that have passed 
since I saw her. They are both most kind and agreeable 
to Lily, and she feels already as if she had known them all 

her life. M is a pretty girl, with beautiful dark hair 

and grey eyes — simple, unaffected, and, like both father 
and mother, full of fun. The manner of living is most 
unsophisticated, as you will think wdien I tell you that we 
were marched straight from the carriage into the dining- 
room (after a dusty, hot journey by rail and carriage of ten 
hours), and made to sit down and go on with the dinner, 
which was about half through, as, owing to a contretemps^ 
we did not arrive until an hour, after we were expected. 
After dinner Bismarck and I had a long w^aik in the woods, 
he talking all the time in the simplest and funniest and 
most interesting manner about all sorts of things that had 
happened in these tremendous years, but talking of them 
exactly as every-day people talk of every-day matters — 
without any affectation. The truth is, he is so entirely 
simple, so full of laissez-aller^ that one is obliged to be 
saying to one's self all the time, This is the great Bis- 

182 



Nobody Controls 

marck — the greatest living man, and one of the greatest 
historical characters that ever lived. When one lives 
familiarly with Brobdignags it seems for the moment that 
every one is a Brobdignag too ; that it is the regular thing 
to be ; one forgets for the moment one's own compara- 
tively diminutive stature. There are a great many men in 
certain villages that we have known who cast a far more 
chilling shade over those about them than Bismarck does. 

... He said he used when younger to think himself a 
clever fellow enough, but now he was convinced that no- 
body had any control over events — that nobody was really 
powerful or great, and it made him laugh when he heard 
himself complimented as wise, foreseeing, and exercising 
great influence over the world. A man in the situation in 
which he had been placed was obliged, while outsiders for 
example were speculating whether to-morrow it would be 
rain or sunshine, to decide promptly, it will rain, or it will 
be fine, and to act accordingly with all the forces at his 
command. If he guessed right, all the world said. What 
sagacity — what prophetic power ! if wrong, all the old 
women would have beaten me with broomsticks. 

If he had learned nothing else, he said he had learned 
modesty. Certainly a more unaffected mortal never 
breathed, nor a more genial one. He looks like a Colos- 
sus, but his health is somewhat shattered. He can never 
sleep until four or five in the morning. Of course work 
follows him here, but so far as I have yet seen it seems to 
trouble him but little. He looks like a country gentleman 
entirely at leisure. 

... I wish I could record the description he gave of his 
interviews with Jules Favre and afterwards with Thiers and 
Favre, when the peace was made. 

One trait I mustn't forget, however. Favre cried a 
little, or affected to cry, and was very pathetic and heroic. 

183 



The Friendly Craft 



Bismarck said that he must not harangue him as if he 
were an Assembly; they were two together on business 
purposes, and he was perfectly hardened against eloquence 
of any kind. Favre begged him not to mention that he 
had been so weak as to weep, and Bismarck was much 
diverted at finding in the printed account afterwards pub- 
lished by Favre that he made a great parade of the tears 
he had shed. 

I must break off in order to commit this letter to the 
bag. Of course I don't yet know how long we shall stay 
here ; I suppose a day or two longer. I will send a tele- 
gram about a change of address, so don^t be frightened at 
getting one. 

Ever yours, 

J. L. M. 

From the ** Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley," edited by George 
William Curtis. Copyright, 1889, by J. Lewis Stackpole. 

VIII 

THE JUDGMENT OF PEERS 

Henry W. Longfellow, w4th the enthusiasm of seven- 
teen, discloses his literary ambition to his father 

December 5, 1824 

TAKE this early opportunity to write to you, 
because I wish to know fully your inclination 
with regard to the profession I am to pursue when I leave 
college. 

For my part, I have already hinted to you what would 
best please me. I want to spend one year at Cambridge 
for the purpose of reading history, and of becoming familiar 
with the best authors in polite literature ; whilst at the 
same time I can be acquiring a knowledge of the Italian 

184 



I 



The Choice of Literature 

language, without an acquaintance with which I shall be 
shut out from one of the most beautiful departments of 
letters. The French I mean to understand pretty thor- 
oughly before I leave college. After leaving Cambridge, I 
would attach myself to some literary periodical publication, 
by which I could maintain myself and still enjoy the ad- 
vantages of reading. Now, I do not think that there is 
anything visionary or chimerical in my plan thus far. The 
fact is — and I will not disguise it in the least, for I think 
I ought not — the fact is, I most eagerly aspire after future 
eminence in literature ; my whole soul burns most ardently 
for it, and every earthly thought centres in it. There may 
be something visionary in this^ but I flatter myself that I 
have prudence enough to keep my enthusiasm from defeat- 
ing its own object by too great haste. Surely, there never 
was a better opportunity offered for the exertion of literary 
talent in our own country than is now offered. To be 
sure, most of our literary men thus far have not been pro- 
fessedly so, until they have studied and entered the prac- 
tice of Theology, Law, or Medicine. But this is evidently 
lost time. I do believe that we ought to pay more atten- 
tion to the opinion of philosophers, that ^^ nothing but 
Nature can qualify a man for knowledge." 

Whether Nature has given me any capacity for knowl- 
edge or not, she has at any rate given me a very strong 
predilection for literary pursuits, and I am almost confident 
in believing, that, if I can ever rise in the world, it must be 
by the exercise of my talent in the wide field of literature. 
With such a belief, I must say that I am unwilling to 
engage in the study of the law. 

Here, then seems to be the starting point : and I think 
it best for me to float out into the world upon that tide 
and in that channel which will the soonest bring me to 
my destined port, and not to struggle against both wind 

185 



The Friendly Craft 

and tide, and by attempting what is impossible lose every 
thing. . . . 

Mr. Longfellow, Sr., replies cautiously, incidentally 
pointing out a false rhythm ^^:> ^^:> ^^:^ ^v> 

THE subject of your first letter is one of deep 
interest and demands great consideration. A 
literary life, to one who has the means of support, must be 
very pleasant. But there is not wealth enough in this 
country to afford encouragement and patronage to merely 
literary men. And as you have not had the fortune (I will 
not say whether good or ill) to be born rich, you must 
adopt a profession which will afford you subsistence as 
well as reputation. I am happy to observe that my ambi- 
tion has never been to accumulate wealth for my children, 
but to cultivate their minds in the best possible manner, 
and to imbue them with correct moral, political, and reli- 
gious principles, — believing that a person thus educated 
will with proper diligence be certain of attaining all the 
wealth which is necessary to happiness. With regard to 
your spending a year at Cambridge, I have always thought 
it might be beneficial ; and if my health should not be 
impaired and my finances should allow, I should be very 
happy to gratify you. . . . In the Advertiser of the 1 8th, 
I observe some poetry from the U. S. Literary Gazette, 
which, from its signature, I presume to be from your pen. 
It is a very pretty production, and I read it with pleasure. 
But you will observe that the second line of the sixth verse 
has too many feet. " Beneath the dark and motionless 
beech." I think it would be improved by substituting 
lonely for 7notionless. I suggest this for your considera- 
tion. I have the pleasure of hearing frequently from home. 
They complain that they have not heard a word from you 
since you left. This is unpardonable. . . . 

1 86 



Pernicious Effects 

Washington Irving also discourages literary ambition 
(To Pierre P. Irving) 

Paris, Dec. 7, 1824 

MY DEAR PIERRE, 
I have long intended to answer your letter, but I 
am so much occupied at one time and interrupted at 
another, that I am compelled to be a very irregular cor- 
respondent. I have been much gratified by the good 
accounts I hear of you from various quarters, and have 
been pleased with the little periodical work which you 
sent me, which gave proof of very promising talent. I 
am sorry, however, to find you venturing into print at so 
early an age, as I consider it extremely disadvantageous. 
I would have you study assiduously for several years to 
come, without suffering yourself, either by your own in- 
clinations or the suggestions of your friends, to be per- 
suaded to commit the merest trifle to the press. Let me 
impress this most earnestly upon you. I speak from 
observation and experience as to the pernicious effects 
of early publishing. It begets an eagerness to reap before 
one has sown. It produces too often an indisposition to 
further study, and a restless craving after popular applause. 
There is nothing that a very young man can write that 
will not be full of faults and errors, and when once printed 
they remain to cause him chagrin and self-reproach in his 
after years. The article you wrote in the periodical work, 
for instance, was very clever as to composition, and was all 
that could be expected from a writer of your age ; but then 
you showed yourself ignorant of music, though you under- 
took to satirize a musical performance ; at a riper age you 
would not have committed this error. . . . 

I hope, however, your literary vein has been but a tran- 
sient one, and that you are preparing to establish your 

187 



The Friendly Craft 

fortune and reputation on a better basis than literary 
success. I hope none of those whose interests and hap- 
piness are dear to me will be induced to follow my foot- 
steps, and wander into the seductive but treacherous paths 
of literature. There is no life more precarious in its 
profits and fallacious in its enjoyments than that of an 
author. I speak from an experience which may be con- 
sidered a favorable and prosperous one ; and I would 
earnestly dissuade all those with whom my voice has any 
effect from trusting their fortunes to the pen. For my 
part, I look forward with impatience to the time when a 
moderate competency will place me above the necessity of 
writing for the press. I have long since discovered that 
it is indeed " vanity and vexation of spirit." . . . 

Give my best love to the family, and believe me ever, 
Your affectionate uncle, 

Washington Irving 

Mr. Lowell advises Mr. Howells ^> ^^:> ^^::^ ^:::!y 

Cambridge, Monday^ Aug., i860 

MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND, — Here is a note to 
Mr. Hawthorne, which you can use if you have 
occasion. 

Don't print too much and too soon ; don't get married 
in a hurry ; read what will make you think^ not dream ; 
hold yourself dear, and more power to your elbow ! God 
bless you ! 

Cordially yours, 

J. R. LOVI^ELL 

From " Letters of James Russell Lowell," edited by Charles Eliot Norton. 
Copyright, 1893, by Harper & Brothers. 



188 



Lovers of Teufelsdrockh 

Ralph Waldo Emerson expresses to Thomas Carlyle 
his approbation of " Sartor Resartus " ^:> •<::> 

Concord, 12 March, 1835 

MY DEAR SIR, — I am glad of the opportunity of 
Mr. Barnard's visit to say health and peace be with 
you. I esteem it the best sign that has shone in my little 
section of space for many days, that some thirty or more 
intelligent persons understand and highly appreciate the 
Sartor, Dr. Channing sent to me for it the other day, and 
I have since heard that he had read it with great interest. 
As soon as I go into town I shall see him and measure his 
love. I know his genius does not and cannot engage your 
attention much. He possesses the mysterious endowment 
of natural eloquence, whose effect, however intense, is 
limited, of course, to personal communication. I can see 
myself that his writings, without his voice, may be meagre 
and feeble. But please love his Catholicism, that at his 
age can relish the Sartor, born and inveterated as he is in 
old books. Moreover, he lay awake all night, he told my 
friend last week, because he had learned in the evening 
that some young men proposed to issue a journal, to be 
called The Transcendentalist^ as the organ of a spiritual 
philosophy. So much for our gossip of to-day. 

But my errand is yet to tell. Some friends here are very 
desirous that Mr. Eraser should send out to a bookseller 
here fifty or a hundred copies of the Sartor. So many we 
want very much ; they would be sold at once. If we knew 
that two or three hundred would be taken up, we should 
reprint it now. But we think it better to satisfy the known 
inquirers for the book first, and when they have extended 
the demand for it, then to reproduce it, a naturalized 
Yankee. The lovers of Teufelsdrockh here are sufificiently 
enthusiastic. I am an icicle to them. They think England 

189 



The Friendly Craft 

must be blind and deaf if the Professor makes no more 
impression there than yet appears. I, with the most 
affectionate wishes for Thomas Carlyle's fame, am mainly 
bent on securing the medicinal virtues of his book for my 
young neighbors. The good people think he overpraises 
Goethe. There I give him up to their wrath. But I bid 
them mark his unsleeping moral sentiment ; that every 
other moralist occasionally nods, becomes complaisant and 
traditional ; but this man is without interval on the side 
of equity and humanity! I am grieved for you, O wise 
friend, that you cannot put in your own contemptuous dis- 
claimer of such puritannical pleas as are set up for you ; 
but each creature and Levite must do after his kind. 

Yet do not imagine that I will hurt you in this unseen 
domain of yours by any Boswellism. Every suffrage you 
get here is fairly your own. Nobody is coaxed to admire 
you, and you have won friends whom I should be proud to 
show you, and honorable women not a few. And cannot 
you renew and confirm your suggestion touching your ap- 
pearance in this continent? Ah, if I could give your inti- 
mation the binding force of an oracular word ! — in a few 
months, please God, at most, I shall have wife, house, and 
home wherewith and wherein to return your former hospi- 
taUty. And if I could draw my prophet and his prophetess 
to brighten and immortalize my lodge, and make it the 
window through which for a summer you should look out 
on a field which Columbus and Berkeley and Lafayette did 
not scorn to sow, my sun should shine clearer and life 
would promise something better than peace. There is a 
part of ethics, or in Schleiermacher's distribution it might 
be physics, which possesses all attraction for me ; to wit, 
the compensations of the Universe, the equality and the co- 
existence of action and reaction, that all prayers are 
granted, that every debt is paid. And the skill with which 

190 



Philosophy in Boston 

the great All maketh clean work as it goes along, leaves no 
rag, consumes its smoke, — will I hope make a chapter in 
your thesis. 

I intimated above that we aspire to have a work on the 
First Philosophy in Boston. I hope, or wish rather. 
Those that are forward in it debate upon the name. I 
doubt not in the least its reception if the material that 
should fill it existed. Through the thickest understanding 
will the reason throw itself instantly into relation with the 
truth that is its object, whenever that appears. But how 
seldom is the pure loadstone produced ! Faith and love are 
apt to be spasmodic in the best minds. Men live on the 
brink of mysteries and harmonies into which yet they 
never enter, and with their hand on the door-latch they die 
outside. Always excepting my wonderful Professor, who 
among the living has thrown any memorable truths into 
circulation ? So live and rejoice and work, my friend, and 
God you aid, for the profit of many more than your mortal 
eyes shall see. Especially seek with recruited and never- 
tired vision to bring back yet higher and truer report from 
your Mount of Communion of the Spirit that dwells there 
and creates all. Have you received a letter from me with 
a pamphlet sent in December ? Fail not, I beg of you, to 
remember me to Mrs. Carlyle. 

Can you not have some Sartors sent ? Hilliard, Gray, 
& Co. are the best publishers in Boston. Or Mr. Rich 
has connections with Burdett in Boston. 

Yours with respect and affection, 

R. Waldo Emerson 



191 



The Friendly Craft 

Mr. Willis insists on remaining out of Boston, but will 
do all that he can for his friends --^^ ^:::v ^;:^ 

G'LK^MKKY, September 15, 1840 

MY DEAR LONGFELLOW, — I had thought it prob- 
able that I should see you here this summer. I was 
sorry to get the assurance that you were not to fly from 
your orbit of east wind. I wanted to have a talk with you. 
That same east wind, by the way, was the reason I did not 
see you while I was in Boston ; for I devoted one after- 
noon to a drive to Cambridge, and on heading round from 
BrookHne the pestilent bise met us full on the quarter, and 
Mrs. Willis declared she could not stand it. So I up 
helm for my sister's house in Brighton, and we finished 
the evening over a fire. I confess that I see everything, 
even my friends, through my bilious spectacles in Boston. 
I do not enjoy any thing or anybody within its abominable 
periphery of hills and salt-marshes. Even you seem not 
what you would at Glenmary ; and I prefer Sumner sea- 
sick in a head-wind in the English Channel, to Sumner 
with his rosiest gills and reddest waistcoat in Boston. 
By the way, how is our agreeable friend ; and have the 
nankeen-trousered Bostonians yet begun to qualify their 
admiration of him? I consider his advent a kind of experi- 
jnejitum cruets ; and if they do turn and abuse /ii'm, they 
will certainly go to perdition for illiberality. There is no 
excuse for disliking Sumner. He bears his honors so 
meekly, and is so thoroughly a good fellow, that if they do 
not send him to Congress and love him forever, I will 
deny my cradle. 

I am going to New York in a w^eek or two, and one of 
my bringings back will be your Voices of the Night, of 
which I have only read the extracts in the newspapers. 
I see perfectly the line you are striking out for a renown, 

192 



Not Quite Merchant Enough 

and it will succeed. Your severe, chaste, lofty-thoughted 
style of poetry will live a great deal longer than that which 
would be more salable and popular now ; and if you pre- 
ferred the money and the hurrah, I should be as sorry as I 
am to be obliged to do so myself. Still, I think you are 
not quite merchant enough with your poems after they are 
written, and about this I talked a great deal with Sumner, 
who will disgorge for you. 

How, and what fashion of Benedick, is Felton? Him I 
should like to see too, on an unprejudiced potato-hill, — out 
of Boston, that is to say ; and next year, if I am here, I 
will try what persuasion will do to get him and his wife, 
you and Sumner and Cleveland, at Glenmary in literary 
congress. I have built a new slice to my house, and have 
plenty of room for you all. Will you, seriously, talk of 
this and try to shape it out? Tell Felton I was highly 
gratified and obliged by the kind and flattering review of 
my poems in the North American. It has done me, I 
doubt not, great service ; qa veut dire I can make better 
bargains with editors and publishers, — about all I think 
worth minding in the way of popular opinion. Will you 
write me a long letter and tell me what you think of your 
own literary position, and whether a blast from " Under the 
Bridge " would make your topsails belly ? I will express 
all the admiration I feel for your sweet poems, if you 
care a rush for it, — indeed, I think I shall do it whether 
you like it or no. God bless you, dear Longfellow ! 
Believe me 

Yours very faithfully, 

N. P. Willis 



193 



The Friendly Craft 

Margaret Fuller urges Henry Thoreau to renewed 
effort ^:^ ^c> ^:> ^;^ ^:^ -^^^ -^^r^ 



I 



1 8 th October y 1841 

DO not find the poem on the mountains improved 
by mere compression, though it might be by 
fusion and glow. Its merits to me are, a noble recognition 
of Nature, two or three manly thoughts, and, in one place, 
a plaintive music. The image of the ships does not please 
me originally. It illustrates the greater by the less, and 
affects me as when Byron compares the light on Jura to 
that of the dark eye of a woman. I cannot define my 
position here, and a large class of readers would differ 
from me. As the poet goes on to — 

" Unhewn primeval timber, 
For knees so stiff, for masts so limber," 

he seems to chase an image, already rather forced, into 
conceits. 

Yet, now that I have some knowledge of the man, it 
seems there is no objection I could make to his lines (with 
the exception of such offenses against taste as the lines 
about the humors of the eye, as to which we are already 
agreed), which I would not make to himself He is 
healthful, rare, of open eye, ready hand, and noble scope. 
He sets no limits to his life, nor to the invasions of nature ; 
he is not wilfully pragmatical, cautious, ascetic, or fantas- 
tical. But he is as yet a somewhat bare hill, which the 
warm gales of Spring have not yet visited. Thought lies 
too detached, truth is seen too much in detail ; we can 
number and mark the substances imbedded in the rock. 
Thus his verses are startling as much as stern ; the thought 
does not excuse its conscious existence by letting us see 
its relation with life ; there is a want of fluent music. Yet 
what could a companion do at present, unless to tame the 

194 



Paradoxes 

guardian of the Alps too early ? Leave him at peace amid 
his native snows. He is friendly; he will find the gener- 
ous office that shall educate him. It is not a soil for the 
citron and the rose, but for the whortleberry, the pine, or 
the heather. 

The unfolding of affections, a wider and deeper human 
experience, the harmonizing influences of other natures, 
will mould the man and melt his verse. He will seek 
thought less and find knowledge the more. I can have no 
advice or criticism for a person so sincere ; but, if I give 
my impression of him, I will say, '^ He says too constantly 
of Nature, she is mine." She is not yours until you have 
been more hers. Seek the lotus, and take a draught of 
rapture. Say not so confidently, all places, all occasions 
are alike. This will never come true till you have found 
it false. 

I do not know that I have more to say now ; perhaps 
these words will say nothing to you. If intercourse should 
continue, perhaps a bridge may be made between two 
minds so widely apart ; for I apprehended you in spirit, 
and you did not seem to mistake me so widely as most of 
your kind do. If you should find yourself inclined to 
write to me, as you thought you might, I dare say, many 
thoughts would be suggested to me ; many have already, 
by seeing you from day to day. Will you finish the poem 
in your own way, and send it for the " Dial " ? Leave out — 
" And seem to milk the sky." 

The image is too low ; Mr. Emerson thought so too. 

Farewell ! May truth be irradiated by Beauty ! Let me 

know whether you go to the lonely hut, and write to me 

about Shakespeare, if you read him there. I have many 

thoughts about him, which I have never yet been led to 

express. 

Margaret F. 

195 



The Friendly Craft 



I 



Once more Miss Fuller rejects Mr. Thoreau's manu- 
script -^^^ ^:^> ^^^ ^^> ^y ^:::^ ^;::> 

1st December [1841] 

AM to Llame for so long detaining your manu- 
script. But my thoughts have been so engaged 
that I have not found a suitable hour to reread it as I 
wished, till last night. This second reading only confirms 
my impression from the first. The essay is rich in 
thoughts, and I should be paijied not to meet it again. 
But then, the thoughts seem to me so out of their natural 
order, that I cannot read it through without pain. I 
never once feel myself in a stream of thought, but seem to 
hear the grating of tools on the mosaic. It is true, as 
Mr. Emerson says, that essays not to be compared with 
this have found their way into the "Dial." But then 
these are more unassuming in their tone, and have an air 
of quiet good-breeding, which induces us to permit their 
presence. Yours is so rugged that it ought to be com- 
manding. . . . 

Wilham Wetmore Story praises the " Fable for 
Critics," but defends Margaret Fuller ^::> ^:> 

(To James Russell Lowell) 

Rome, March 21st, 1849 

MY DEAR JIM,— . . . "The Biglow Papers" 
I used to read to convulsed audiences at our 
weekly " at home " on Sunday evenings, giving them as 
well as I could the true Yankee note, and one evening I 
interpreted in the same tones one of them to the Brown- 
ings, who were quite as much amused and delighted as I. 
The " Fable for Critics " is admirable and just what I 

196 



Too Sharp a Joke 

think in almost all points. It is very witty and, as the 
English say, '* amazingly clever." Once or twice you were 
biassed by friendships (how can one help being ? it is so 
graceful an error) and once by prejudice ; but you know 
this really as well as I. There is but one thing I regretted, 
and that was that you drove your arrow so sharply through 
Miranda.^ The joke of " Tiring-woman to the Muses '' is 
too happy ; but because fate has really been unkind to her, 
and because she depends on her pen for her bread-and- 
water (and that is nearly all she has to eat), and because 
she is her own worst enemy, and because through her dis- 
appointment and disease, which (things) embitter every 
one, she has struggled most stoutly and manfully, I could 
have wished you had let her pass scot-free. But you beat 
Butler at rhymes, and every body at puns. . . . 

The Brownings and we became great friends in Flor- 
ence, and of course we could not become friends without 
liking each other. He, Emelyn says, is like you — judge 
from this portrait? He is of my size, but slighter, with 
straight black hair, small eyes, wide apart, which he 
twitches constantly together, a smooth face, a slightly 
aquiline nose, and manners nervous and rapid. He has a 
great vivacity, but not the least humour, some sarcasm, 
considerable critical faculty, and very great frankness and 
friendliness of manner and mind. Mrs. Browning used 
to sit buried up in a large easy chair, listening and talking 
very quietly and pleasantly, with nothing of that peculiarity 
which one would expect from reading her poems. Her 
eyes are small, her mouth large, she wears a cap and long 
curls. Very unaffected and pleasant and simple-hearted 
is she, and Browning says ^' her poems are the least good 
part of her." . . . Once in a while / write verses, and I 
think I have written better here than ever before — which 
1 The name under which Margaret Fuller was satirized. 
197 



I 



The Friendly Craft 

is not perhaps saying much. I have hundreds of statues 
in my head to make, but they are in the future tense. 

Powers I knew very well in Florence. He is a man of 
great mechanical talent and natural strength of perception, 
but with no poetry in his composition, and I think no 
creative power. . . . When I compare him to Page I feel 
his inferiority ; and, after all, I have met very few, if any, 
persons who affect me so truly as men of genius as Page. 
Certainly there are few artists like him. ... 

Mr. and Mrs. Longfellow read Dr. Holmes's new 
volume ^o ^:y -^^^ '<^:> ^^^ -^i^ ^:^ ^=:::> 

November 28, 1848 
HAD half a mind yesterday, when I received your 
volume, to practise upon you the old General 
Washington dodge — pardon the irreverential word — of 
thanking the donor before reading the book. But, un- 
luckily for my plot, I happened to get my finger between 
the leaves, as Mr. Alworthy got his into the hand of Tom 
Jones, and felt the warm, soft pressure; and it was all over 
with me. My wife, coming in at this juncture of affairs, 
was in like manner caught ; and we sat and read all the 
afternoon, till we had gone over all the new, and most of 
the old, which is as good as new, and finally drained " the 
punch bowl" between us, and shared the glass of cold 
water which serves as cul-de-la7npe to the volume, and 
said, "It is divine!" 

Take thy place, O poet, among the truest, the wittiest, 
the tenderest, among the 

" bards that sung 
Divine ideas below, 
That always find us young, 
And always keep us so." 

This is the desire and prophecy of your friend. . . . 

198 



Adjudged a Failure 



Catharine Sedgwick has grave doubts about " The 
House of the Seven Gables " ^o^- --^^y ^^:> ^^^ 

(To Mrs. K. S. Minot) 

Lenox, May 4, 1851 

YOUR mother, after reading Hawthorne's book 
["The House of the Seven Gables"], has most 
kindly and patiently gone straight through it again in 
loud reading to your father and me. Your father is not 
a model listener; ten thousand thoughts of ten thousand 
things to be done call him off, and would wear out any 
temper but your mother's. Have you read it ? There is 
marvellous beauty in the diction; a richness and origi- 
nality of thought that give the stamp of unquestionable 
genius ; a microscopic observation of the external world, 
and the keenest analysis of character ; and elegance and 
finish that is like the work of a master sculptor — perfect 
in its artistic details. And yet, to my mind, it is a failure. 
It fails in the essentials of a work of art ; there is not 
essential dignity in the characters to make them worth the 
labor spent on them. A low-minded vulgar hypocrite, 
a weak-minded nervous old maid, and her half-cracked 
brother, with nothing but beauty, and a blind instinctive 
love of the beautiful, are the chief characters of the drama. 
" Little Phoebe " is the redemption, as far as she goes, of 
the book — a sweet and perfect flower amidst corruption, 
barrenness, and decay. The book is an affliction. It 
affects me like a passage through the wards of an insane 
asylum, or a visit to specimens of morbid anatomy. It 
has the unity and simple construction of a Greek tragedy, 
but without the relief of divine qualities or great events ; 
and the man takes such savage delight in repeating and 
repeating the raw head and bloody bones of his imagina- 

199 



The Friendly Craft 

tion. There is nothing genial, excepting always little 
Phoebe, the ideal of a New England, sweet-tempered^ 
" accomplishing " village girl. I might have liked it better 
when I was younger, but as we go through the tragedy of 
life we need elixirs, cordials, and all the kindliest resources 
of the art of fiction. There is too much force for the sub- 
ject. It is as if a railroad should be built and a locomotive 
started to transport skeletons, specimens, and one bird of 
Paradise ! . . . 

Rufus Choate rises from bed to extol Burke '<::> -cy 
(To Charles Sumner) 
.EAR SUMNER, — I have just had your letter read 



D 



to me on a half-sick bed, and get up redolent of 
magnesia and roasted apples, to embrace you for your 
Burkeism generally, and for your extracts and references. 
. . . I hope you review Burke in the N[orth] A[merican 
Review], though I have not got it and do not say so. 
Mind that he is the fourth Englishman, — Shakspeare, 
Bacon, Milton, Burke. I hope you take one hundred 
pages for the article. Compare, contrast, with Cicero, — 
both knowing all things, — but God knows where to end 
on Burke. No Englishman or countryman of ours has 
the least appreciation of Burke. The Whigs never forgave 
the last eight or ten years of that life of glory, and the 
Tories never forgave what preceded ; and we poor, un- 
idealized democrats, do not understand his marvellous 
English, universal wisdom, illuminated, omniscient mind, 
and are afraid of his principles. What coxcombical rascal 
is it that thinks Bolingbroke a better writer? Take page 
by page the allusions, the felicities, the immortalities of 
truth, variety, reason, height, depth, everything, — Boling- 
broke is a voluble prater to Burke ! 

200 



An Electric Bath 

Amplify on his letter in reply to the Duke of Bedford. 
How mournful, melodious, Cassandra -like ! Out of Burke 
might be cut 50 Mackintoshes, 175 Macaulays, 40 Jeffreys, 
and 250 Sir Robert Peels, and leave him greater than Pitt 
and Fox together. 

I seem to suppose your article is not written, — as I hope 
it is. . . . 

Yours truly, R. C. 

John G. Whittier feels uncomfortable while reading 
Browning -^i^ -^^ ^^^ -<::> >=;::^ <::> 

(To Lucy Larcom, 1855) 

ELIZABETH has been reading Browning's poem 
. . . and she tells me it is great. I have only 
dipped into it, here and there, but it is not exactly com- 
fortable reading. It seemed to me like a galvanic battery 
in full play — its spasmodic utterances and intense passion 
makes me feel as if I had taken a bath among electric 
eels. . . . 

William Wetmore Story writes to Charles Eliot Norton 
after Mrs. Browning's death -<:^ '<^> ^:^ 

[DiABLERETS, Aug. 1 5, 1861] 

THE funeral was not impressive, as it ought to 
have been. She was buried in the Protestant 
cemetery where Theodore Parker lies ; many of her friends 
were there, but fewer persons than I expected and hoped 
to see. The services were blundered through by a fat 
English parson in a brutally careless way, and she was 
consigned by him to the earth as if her clay were no better 
than any other clay. . . . She is a great loss to litera- 
ture, to Italy and to the world — the greatest poet among 

201 



The Friendly Craft 

women. What energy and fire there was in that little 
frame ; what burning words were winged by her pen ; with 
what glorious courage she attacked error, however strongly 
entrenched in custom ; how bravely she stood by her prin- 
ciples ! Never did I see any one whose brow the world 
hurried and crowded so to crown, who had so little vanity 
and so much pure humility. Praise gratified her when just 
— blame when unjust scarcely annoyed her. She could 
afford to let her work plead for itself. Ready to accept 
criticism, she never feared it, but defended herself with 
spirit when unjustly attacked. For public opinion she 
cared not a straw, and could not bear to be looked on as 
a lion. Her faiths were rooted in the centre of her being. 

Browning is now with his sister in Paris. The house at 
Florence is broken up, and I have lost my best friend and 
daily companion in Italy. ... 

The last thing 1 did before leaving Rome was to make a 
bust of him which his wife was good enough to call "per- 
fect." It was made for her as a present, but, alas ! you see 
the end of that. . . . 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich condemns the publication of 
the Browning letters ^:::> -<::> ^;:> ^;::> ^^^ 

(To George E. Woodberry) 

PoNKAPOG, Mass. J June 12, 1899 

DEAR WOODBERRY, — Don't ever go away from 
home on a ten months' absence without leaving some- 
body behind to answer your letters for you. I have been 
swamped, and am only just getting my head out of my cor- 
respondence. I found my private affairs in a tangle, too, 
and not easy to straighten out. But the slug's in the bud, 
and God's in the sky, and the world is O.K., as Browning 

202 



Keats in Kiplingese 

incidentally remarks. A propos of Browning, Fve been 
reading his letters to " Ba " and " Ba's " letters to him, and 
think it a shameful thing that they should be printed. All 
that ponderous love-making — a queer mixture of Greek 
roots and middle-age stickiness ("Ba" was 40 years old) 
— is very tedious. Here and there is a fine passage, and 
one is amused by the way the lovers patronize everybody 
they don't despise. But as a whole the book takes away 
from Browning's ^ dignity. A man — even the greatest — 
cannot stand being photographed in his pajahmas. Thank 
God, we are spared Shakespeare's letters to Anne Hatha- 
way ! Doubtless he wrote her some sappy notes. He did 
everything that ever man did. 

We are gradually breaking up here, preparatory to mov- 
ing to The Crags, which has been closed these three sum- 
mers. I shall go there without any literary plans, unless I 
carry out my idea of turning " The Eve of St. Agnes " into 
Kiplingese. Wouldn't it be delicious! — 

St. Hagnes Heve ! 'ow bloomin' chill it was ! 
The Howl, for all his hulster, was a-cold. 
The 'are limped tremblin' through the blarsted grass, 
Etc., etc. 

I think it might make Keats popular again — poor Keats, 
who didn't know any better than to write pure English. 
The dear boy wasn't " up " to writing " Gawd " instead of 
God. In no haste, as ever, 

T. B. A. 

1 P.S. I met Browning on three occasions. He was very cordial 
to me in a man-of-the-world fashion. I did not care greatly for him 
personally. Good head, long body, short legs. Seated, he looked 
like a giant; standing, he just missed being a dwarf. He talked 
well, but not so well as Lowell. . . . 

203 



The Friendly Craft 

James Russell Lowell is not squeamish, but — ^=^y ^^^ 
(To Edmund Clarence Stedman) 

Elmwood, Nov. 26, 1866 

MY DEAR SIR, — . . . I have not seen Swinburne's 
new volume — but a poem or tw^o from it which I 
have seen shocked me, and I am not squeamish. ... I 
am too old to have a painted Hetaira palmed off on me 
for a Muse, and I hold unchastity of mind to be w^orse 
than that of body. Why should a man by choice go down 
to Hve in his cellar, instead of mounting to those fair upper 
chambers which look towards the sunrise of that Easter 
which shall greet the resurrection of the soul from the 
body of this death? Virgiiiibiis piterisqjie ? To be sure! 
let no man write a line that he w^ould not have his daughter 
read. When a man begins to lust after the IMuse instead 
of loving her, he may be sure that it is never the Muse 
that he embraces. But I have outlived many heresies, 
and shall outlive this new Adamite one of Swinburne. 
The true Church of poetry is founded on a rock, and I 
have no fear that these smutchy back-doors of hell shall 
prevail against her. . . . 

Always truly yours, 

J. R. Lowell 

From " Letters of James Russell Lowell," edited by Charles Eliot Norton. 
Copyright, 1893, by Harper & Brothers. 

Charles Dudley Warner on literature and life ^:> ^v> 

I 

(To William Dean Howells, from Venice, August^ 1875) 

PHOTO of the Casa Falieri I cannot find in 
any of the shops. It is very stupid of the 
photographers not to take one of the most picturesque 

204 - 



A 



Falling in Love Again 

houses in Venice, and one so interesting for its occupants. 
I say nothing of the Faheri. I do not care to dig up the 
dead — but what a world this is, when no more honour is 
paid to the man who has done more to bring Venice into 
good repute than any man in the last hundred years, ex- 
cept perhaps Ruskin. . . . Americans are always floating 
past and staring about, and probably they don't know that 
in this very palace the only true history of Egypt and 
Rameses II is now actually building itself up day by day. 
Hang it, there is no chance for modest merit. By the 
way, I want to tell you something. I fell in love with you 
over again the other day. I chanced upon an English 
copy of the " Italian Journeys " and re-read it with intense 
enjoyment. What felicity, what delicacy. Your handhng 
of the English language charms me to the core, and you 
catch characters and shades — nii-an-ces — of it. Why do 
I break out upon you in this bold manner? Well, for this, 
you are writing another story, probably it is all executed, 
in fact, now. Probably it is to be another six-months' 
child. It will be as good as the other, no doubt, and that is 
saying everything. But, it is time you quit paddling along 
shore, and strike out into the open. Ask Mrs. Howells 
(with my love) if it is not so. The time has come for you 
to make an opits — not only a study on a large canvas, but 
a picture. Write a long novel, one that we can dive into 
with confidence, and not feel that we are to strike bottom at 
the first plunge. Permit me the extent of the figure — we 
want to swim in you, not merely to lave our faces. I have 
read Mr. James's "Roderick Hudson " up to September, 
and I give in. It is not too much to call it great. What 
consummate art it all is, no straining, but easily the bull's- 
eye every time. Another noticeable thing is that, while 
it is calm and high in culture, there is none of the sneer 
in it or the cant of culture, and I wonder if the author him- 

205 



The Friendly Craft 



self knows that his characters never seem to be used by 
him as stalking-horses to vent an opinion which the 
author does not quite care to father. His characters al- 
ways seem to speak only for themselves. I take it there 
is no better evidence of the author's success than 
that. . . . 

II 

(To William Dean UoweWs, /uly, 1876) 

MY DEAR, DEAR FRIEND: I have come into 
this land of Family and Chance Acquaintances and 
find it hot and dirty, and in debt, and I am in sympathy 
with it. It is only when I think of you and the dear friends 
whose presence would make the peninsula of the White 
Sea a paradise that I have heart and resolve to do as 
Cranmer told Ridley to do under similar circumstances, 
play the man, though I am burnt to a crisp. . . . Mrs. 
Warner is sunning herself in the thought that she is at 
home. That woman is a deep and designing patriot, 
and would dwell here forever, if her plans were not upset 
by her private and ill-concealed affection for me. . . . 
God bless you for your generous notice of the " Levant " 
book. It quite took my breath away, and I am not sure 
I should have survived, if it were not that Mr. Prime and 
General McClellan and others of that sort in New York 
are saying, publicly and privately, that it is the best book 
written on Egypt. I myself still doubt, however, if it 
is as good in all respects as the Pentateuch. . j. . 



M' 



III 

"ARK [Twain] says that "to give a humorous 
book to Ripley is like sending a first-chop 
paper of chewing tobacco to a young ladies' seminary for 
them to review." . . . 

206 



Hollow Affectation 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich considers Whitman's verse 
curious but ineifective ^v> -^i^ ^^> ^^:^ ^;^ 

(To Edmund Clarence Stedman) 

PoNKAPOG, Mass., Nov. 20, 1880 

MY DEAR EDMUND,— . . . You seemed to think 
that I was going to take exception to your paper 
on Walt Whitman. It was all admirably said, and my 
own opinion did not run away from yours at any important 
point. I place less value than you do on the endorsement 
of Swinburne, Rossetti and Co., inasmuch as they have 

also endorsed the very poor paper of . If Whitman 

had been able (he was not able, for he tried it and failed) 
to put his thought into artistic verse, he would have 
attracted little or no attention, perhaps. Where he is fine,^ 
he is fine in precisely the way of conventional poets. The 
greater bulk of his writing is neither prose nor verse, 
and certainly is not an improvement on either. A glorious 
line now and then, and a striking bit of color here and 
there, do not constitute a poet — especially a poet for the 
People. There never was a poet so calculated to please 
a very few. As you say, he will probably be hereafter 
exhumed and anatomized by learned surgeons — who prefer 
a subject with thin shoulder-blades or some abnormal 
organ to a well-regulated corpse. But he will never be 
regarded in the same light as Villon. Villon spoke in 
the tone and language of his own period : what is quaint 
or fantastic to us was natural to him. He was a master 
of versification. Whitman's manner is a hollow affecta- 
tion, and represents neither the man nor the time. As 
the voice of the 19th century he will have little signifi- 
cance in the 21st. That he will outlast the majority of 
his contemporaries, I haven't the faintest doubt — but 

207 



The Friendly Craft 

it will be in a glass case or a quart of spirits in an 
anatomical museum. While we are on the topic of poetry, 
and I've the space to say it, I want to tell you that I 
thought the poem on Gifford exquisite, particularly the 
second division. The blank verse was wholly your own, 
"not Lancelot's nor another's" — as mine always is. . . . 
I am curious to see your review of Mrs. Fields's "Under 
the Olive." Here's a New England woman blowing 
very sweet breath through Pandean pipes! What un- 
expected antique music to come up from Manchester-by- 
the-Sea! I admire it all greatly, as a reproduction. Mrs. 
Fields's work in this represents only her intellect and its 
training: I don't find her personality anywhere. The 
joys and sorrows she sings are our own to-day, but she 
presents them in such a manner as to make them seem 
aside from our experience. To my thinking a single drop 
of pure Yankee blood is richer than a thousand urnfuls of 
Greek dust. At the same time, I like a cinerary urn on 
the corner of my mantel-shelf, for decoration. This is the 
narrow view of a man who doesn't know Greek literature 
except through translation. ... Her poem must have 
interested you vastly. It is the most remarkable volume 
of verse ever printed by an American woman. Don't you 
think so? Your review will answer me. While we are on 
marbleized classical subjects, let me beg you to read my 
sketch of " Smith " in the January number of the 
" Atlantic." Plutarch beaten on his own ground ! 

With our love, T. B. Aldrich 



208 



Overshadowing Fame 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich discusses his own and others' 
poems ^^ '^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^ -^^^ ^^^ 

(To Hamilton W. Mabie) 

Mt. Vernon St., Boston, Dec. 4, 1897 

MY DEAR MABIE, — Your paper in the last "Chap 
Book " places me in all sorts of grateful debt to you. 
After thanking you for the judicial kindness of the criticism 
I want to tell you how deeply it interested me at certain 
special points. You have, in a way, made me better ac- 
quainted with myself. Until you said it, I was not aware, 
or only vaguely aware, of how heavily we younger writers 
were overshadowed and handicapped by the fame of the 
reformatory and didactic group of poets, the chiefs of 
which were of course Whittier and Lowell : the others 
were only incidentally reformers, and Holmes was no re- 
former at all. But they all with their various voices 
monopolized the public ear. So far as I am concerned, I 
did not wholly realize this, for even long before I had won 
an appreciable number of listeners these same men had 
given me great encouragement. I don't think that any 
four famous authors were ever so kind to an obscure young 
man as Hawthorne, Whittier, Lowell, and Holmes were to 
me. I wish to show you, some day, a letter which Haw- 
thorne wrote to me thirty-four years ago. 

I like to have you say that I have always cared more for 
the integrity of my work than for any chance popularity. 
And what you say of my " aloofness " as being " due in 
part to a lack of quick sympathies with contemporary 
experience" (though I had never before thought of it) 
shows true insight. To be sure, such verse as *^ Elm- 
wood," "Wendell Phillips," "Unguarded Gates," and the 
" Shaw Memorial Ode " would seem somewhat to condi- 
p 209 



The Friendly Craft 

tion the statement ; but the mood of these poems is not 
habitual with me, nor characteristic. They did, however, 
grow out of strong convictions. ... I have always been 
instinctively shy of "topics of the day." A good poem 
on some passing event is certain of instant success ; but 
when the event is passed, few things are more certain of 
oblivion. Jones' or Smith's lines " to my lady's eye- 
brow" — which is lovely in every age — will outlive nine 
tenths of the noisy verse of our stress and storm period. 
Smith or Jones, who never dreamed of having a Mission, 
will placidly sweep down to posterity over the fall of a 
girPs eyelash, leaving about all the shrill didactic singers 
high and dry "on the sands of time." Enviable Jones, or 
Smith ! . . . 
Believe me, your sincere friend, T. B. Aldrich 

Of the curative properties of poetry, and of the kind 
that should be taken homeopathically -^^rr^ ^o 

(John G. Whittier to Mrs. Annie Fields) 

id ino.^ 9, 1888 

AM delighted to have such a favorable report 
from thee by Sarah's nice letter. Sitting by the 
peat fire, listening to Lowell's reading of his own verses ! 
A convalescent princess with her minstrel in attendance! 
There may be a question as to curative properties of Dr. 
Lowell's dose, but that its flavor was agreeable I have no 
doubt. My own experience of the poetry cure was not 
satisfactory. Some years ago, when I was slowly getting 
up from illness, an honest friend of mine, an orthodox 
minister, in the very kindness of his heart thought to help 
me on by administering a poem in five cantos, illustrating 
the five points of Calvinism. I could only take a homeo- 
pathic dose of it. Its unmistakable flavor of brimstone 

210 



I 



M- 



Newspaper Jokes 

disagreed with my stomach, probably because I was a 
Quaker. . . . 

Charles Godfrey Leland deplores the change in 
American humor ^^^ ^:> ^:> ^^> ^v:> ^:^ 
(To Miss Mary A. Owen) 

Hotel Victoria^ Florence, Feb. 3d, 1895 

ANY thanks for the letter, which is indeed a 
letter worth reading, which few are in these 
days when so few people write anything but notes or rub- 
bish. Be sure of one thing, that yours are always read 
with a relish. For it is marvellously true that as tools are 
never wanting to an artist, there is always abundance to 
make a letter with to those who know how to write. There 
is always something to " right about " — or to turn round 
to and see! Dapprimo, I thank you for the jokes from the 
newspapers. They are very good, but I observe that since 
I was in America, the real old extravaganza, the wild 
eccentric outburst, is disappearing from country papers. 
No editor bursts now on his readers all at once with the 
awful question, "If ink stands why does n^t it walk?" 
Nor have I heard for years of the old-fashioned sequences, 
when one man began with a verse of poetry and every 
small newspaper reprinted it, adding a parody. Thus 
they began with Ann Tiquity and then added Ann Gelic 
and Ann O'Dyne — till they had finished the Anns. Em- 
erson's "Brahma" elicited hundreds of parodies, till he 
actually suppressed it. 

Then there were the wild outbursts of poems such as — 

I seen her out a-walking 
In her habit de la rue, 
And 't aint no use a-talking — 
But she's pumpkins and a few. 
211 



The Friendly Craft 

There was something Indian-like, aboriginal, and wild in 
the American fun of 40 years ago {vide Albert Pike's 
" Arkansas Gentleman " and the ^' Harp of a Thousand 
Strings ") which has no parallel now. My own " beautiful 
poem" on a girl who had her underskirt made out of a 
coffee bag was republished a thousand times, — we were 
wilder in those days, and more eccentric. All of these 
which you send are very good, but they might all have 
been made in England. They are mild. Ere long, there 
will be no Ame7'ica, . . . 



Thomas Bailey Aldrich on letter writers ^::y ^^^i^ ' ^::> 

(To Laurence Hutton) 

PoNKAPOG, Mass., Oct. 31, 1893 

DEAR LAURENCE, — Of course I would a hundred 
times rather sojourn with your death-masks than 
stick myself up in that room at The Players, where memory 
never lets go its grip on me for a moment. . . . 

I have n't seen Winter's book yet. I did n't know that 
there were any words of mine in it.^ He must have quoted 
something from one of my letters. It was nothing I in- 
tended to be printed, of course. I hope it was not too 
iniiifie^ for I don't like to wear my heart on my sleeve. The 
more I feel, the less I say about it. . . . 

I've just been reading Lowell's letters. How good and 
how poor they are! Nearly all of them are too self-con- 
scious. Emerson and Whittier are about the only men in 
that famous group who were not thinking about themselves 
the whole while. They were too simple to pose, or to be 
intentionally brilliant. Emerson shed his silver like the 

1 See page 346. 
212 



A Musical Humbug 

moon, without knowing it. However, we all can't be 
great and modest at the same moment! 

Ever yours, T. B. A. 

Tell Mark that I love him just the same as if he had n't 
written successful books. 

De gustibus non disputandum ^:> ^^ ^:^y '<;x^ >Qy 

I 
(Bret Harte to his wife) 

Q^^YYi^V)^ January 22, 1879 

MY DEAR ANNA, — Mrs. Bayard Taylor has sent 
me a book of her late husband's, and a very kind 
note, and it occurs to me to enclose to you to-day the letter 
I received from her in answer to one I wrote her after 
hearing of her husband's death. You remember that I did 
not feel very kindly towards him, nor had he troubled 
himself much about me when I came here alone and 
friendless, but his death choked back my resentment, and 
what I wrote to her and afterwards in the Tageblatt, I felt 
very honestly. 

I have been several times to the opera at Dlisseldorf, 
and I have been hesitating whether I should slowly pre- 
pare you for a great shock or tell you at once that musical 
Germajty is a humbug. It had struck me during the last 
two months that I had really heard nothing good in the 
way of music or even as good as I have heard in America, 
and it was only a week ago that hearing a piano played in 
an adjoining house, and played badly at that, I was sud- 
denly struck with the fact that it was really the first piano 
that I had heard in Germany. I have heard orchestras 
at concerts and military bands ; but no better than in 
America. My first operatic experience was Taunhduser , 
I can see your superior smile, Anna, at this ; and I know 

2T3 



The Friendly Craft 

how you will take my criticism of Wagner, so I don't mind 
saying plainly, that it was the most diabolically hideous 
and stupidly monotonous performance I ever heard. I 
shall say nothing about the orchestral harmonies, for there 
wasn't anything going on of that kind, unless you call 
something that seemed like a boiler factory at work in the 
next street, and the wind whistling through the rigging of 
a channel steamer, harmony. But I must say one thing I 
In the third act, I think, Tannhauser and two other min- 
strels sing before the King and Court to the accompaniment 
of their harps — and the boiler factory. Each minstrel 
sang or rather declaimed something like the multiplication 
table for about twenty minutes. Tannhauser, when his 
turn came, declaimed longer, and more lugubriously, and 
ponderously and monotonously than the others, and went 
into '-'' nine times nine are eighty-one " and " ten times ten 
are twenty," when suddenly when he had finished they all 
drew their swords and rushed at him. I turned to General 
Von Ranch and said to him that I didn't wonder at it. 
"Ah," said he, "you know the story then?" "No, not ex- 
actly," I replied. " Ja wohl," said Von Ranch, " the story 
is that these minstrels are all singing in praise of Love, 
but they are furious at Tannhauser who loves Hilda, the 
German Venus, for singing in the praise of Love so wildly^ 
so warmly^ so passionately ! " Then I concluded that I 
really did not understand Wagner. 

But what I wanted to say was that even my poor unedu- 
cated ear detected bad instrumentation and worse singing 
in the choruses. I confided this much to a friend, and he 
said very frankly that I was probably right, that the best 
musicians and choruses went to America ! 

Then I was awfully disappointed in " Faust " or, as it is 
known here in the playbills, "Marguerite." You know 
how I love that delicious idyl of Gounod's and I was in my 

214 



Magnificent Acting 

seat that night long before the curtain went up. Before 
the first act was over I felt like leaving, and yet I was glad 
I stayed. For although the chorus of villagers was fright- 
ful, and Faust and Mephistopheles spouted and declaimed 
blank verse at each other — whole pages of Goethe, yet 
the acting was good. The music was a little better in the 
next act, and the acting was superb. I have never seen 
such a Marguerite ! From the time she first meets Faust 
with that pert rebuke until the final scenes she was perfect. 
The prayer in the church — the church interior represented 
with kneeling figures and service going on — such as they 
dare not represent in England — was most wonderful. I 
can see her yet, passing from one to another of the kneel- 
ing groups as the women draw away from her, and as she 
knelt in a blind groping way with her fingers mechanically 
turning the leaves of her prayer-book, and the voice of 
Mephistopheles mingling with the music, until, with one 
wild shriek she threw the book away. Then it was that I 
jumped up in my seat and applauded. But think of my 
coming to Germany to hear opera badly sung, and mag- 
nificently acted! 

I saw Der Freischutz after this, but it was not so well 
acted, and awfully sung. Yet the scenery was wonderfully 
good and the costumes historically perfect. The audi- 
ences from Cologne to Dusseldorf are all the same, stiff, 
formal, plainly dressed, all except the officers. The opera 
audience at Cologne look like an American prayer-meeting. 

I have written Frankie and Wodie. Unless my lecture 
tour is postponed, I shall not write you again until I get to 
London. And then I shall be so busy I can only give you 
the news of success. — God bless you all. 

Frank 



2IS 



A 



The Friendly Craft 
II 

(Sidney Lanier to his wife) 

New York, August 15, 1870 

H, how they have belied Wagner ! I heard 
Theodore Thomas' orchestra play his overture 
to " Tannhauser."" The ''• Music of the Future " is surely 
thy music and my music. Each harmony w^as a chorus of 
pure aspirations. The sequences flowed along, one after 
another, as if all the great and noble deeds of time had 
formed a procession and marched in review before one's 
ears^ instead of one's eyes. These "great and noble 
deeds" were not deeds of war and statesmanship, but 
majestic victories of inner struggles of a man. This un- 
broken march of beautiful-bodied Triumphs irresistibly 
invites the soul of a man to create other processions like 
it. I would I might lead a so magnificent file of glories 
into heaven ! . . . 



IX 



THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD 

Governor Winthrop bids his wife prepare for an ocean 
voyage ^^::> ^^:> ^;:^ ^v> ^:^ ^:^:> ^Qy -^^ 

MY DEARE WIFE, — I wrote to thee by my brother 
Arthur, but I durst write no more then I need not 
care though it miscarried, for I found him the olde man 
still ; yet I would have kept him to ease my brother, but 
that his owne desire to returne, & the scarcitye of provi- 
sions heer, yielded the stronger reason to let him goe. 
Now (my good wife) let us ioyne in praysinge o^ mercifull 
God, that (howsoever he hath afflicted us, both generally 

216 



Sweet & Wholesome Fare 

& particularly mine owne family in his stroke upon my 
Sonne Henry) yet myselfe & the rest of o^' children & 
familye are safe & in health, & that he upholds o^ hearts 
that we fainte not in all o'' troubles, but can yet waite for a 
good issue. And howsoever our fare be but coarse in re- 
spect of what we formerly had, (pease, puddings & fish, 
being o^ ordinary diet,) yet he makes it sweet & whole- 
some to us, that I may truly say I desire no better : Besides 
in this, that he beginnes w*^ us thus in affliction, it is the 
greater argument to us of his love, & of the goodnesse of 
the worke w«^ we are about ; for Sathan bends his forces 
against us, & stirres up his instruments to all kinde of mis- 
chief, so that I thinke heere are some persons who never 
shewed so much wickednesse in England as they have donne 
heer. Therefore be not discouraged (my deare Wife) by 
anythinge thou shalt heare from hence, for I see no cause 
to repente of o^ coming hether, & thou seest (by o^ experi- 
ence) that God can bringe safe hether even the tenderest 
women & the youngest children (as he did many in diverse 
shippes, though the voyage were more teadious than for- 
merly hath been knowne in this season.) Be sure to be 
warme clothed, & to have store of fresh provisions, meale, 
eggs putt up in salt or grounde mault, butter, ote meale, 
pease, & fruits, & a large stronge chest or 2 : well locked, 
to keepe these provisions in; & be sure they be bestowed 
in the shippe where they may be readily come by, (w^^ the 
boatswaine will see to & the quarter masters, if they be 
rewarded beforehande,) but for these thinges my sonne will 
take care : Be sure to have ready at sea 2 : or 3 : skilletts 
of severall syzes, a large fryinge panne, a small stewinge 
panne, & a case to boyle a pudding in ; store of linnen for 
use at sea, & sacke to bestow among the saylers : some 
drinkinge vessells, & peuter & other vessells : & for phisick 
you shall need no other but a pound of Doctor Wright's 

217 



The Friendly Craft 

Electuariu lenitivu^ & his direction to use it, a gallon of 
scirvy grasse to drinke a little 5 : or 6 : morninges togither, 
w*^ some saltpeter dissolved in it, & a little grated or sliced 
nutmege. 

Thou must be sure to bringe no more companye then 
so many as shall have full provisio for a yeare & a halfe, 
for though the earth heere be very fertile yet there must be 
tyme & meanes to rayse it; if we have corne enough we 
may live plentifully. Yet all these are but the meanes w^^ 
God hath ordayned to doe us good by : o"" eyes must be 
towards him, who as he can w*Miould blessings from the 
strongest meanes, so he can give sufficient vertue to 
the weakest. I am so straightened w*^ much businesse, 
as can no waye satisfye myselfe in wrightinge to thee. The 
Lorde will in due tyme lett us see the faces of each other 
againe to o^ great comfort : Now the Lord in mercye 
blesse, guide & supporte thee : I kisse & embrace thee 
my deare wife. I kisse & blesse you all my deare chil- 
dren, Forth, Mary, Deane, Sam, & the other: the Lorde 
keepe you all & worke his true feare in yo^ hearts. The 
blessing of the Lorde be upon all my servants, whom salute 
from me, Jo : Sanford, Amy &c, Goldstone, Pease, Chote 
&c. : my good freinds at Casthns & all my good neigh bo^^, 
good man Cole & his good wife, & all the rest : 

Remember to come well furnished w*^ linnen, woollen, 
some more beddinge, brasse, peuter, leather bottells, drink- 
inge homes &c. : let my sonne provide 12 : axes of severall 
sorts of the Braintree Smithe, or some other prime work- 
man, whatever they coste, & some Augers great & smale, 
& many other necessaryes w^^ I can't now thinke of, as 
candles, sope, & store of beife suett, &c. : once againe fare- 
well my deare wife. 

Thy faithfull husband Jo : Winthrop 

Charlton in N : England July 23 : 1630. 

218 



Decorum Yields to Necessity 

Abigail Adams suffers the indelicacy of sea-sickness 
(To Mrs. Cranch) 

On board ship Active, Latitude 44, Longitude 34. Tuesday, 
6 July ^ 1784. From the Ocean 

MY DEAR SISTER, 
I have been sixteen days at sea, and have not at- 
tempted to write a single letter. 'Tis true, I have kept a 
journal whenever I was able ; but that must be close locked 
up, unless I was sure to hand it you with safety. 

'Tis said of Cato, the Roman Censor, that one of the 
three things which he regretted during his life, was going 
once by sea when he might have made his journey by 
land. I fancy the philosopher was not proof against that 
most disheartening, dispiriting malady, sea-sickness. Of 
this I am very sure, that no lady would ever wish a second 
time to try the sea, were the objects of her pursuit within 
the reach of a land journey. I have had frequent occasion, 
since I came on board, to recollect an observation of my 
best friend's, " that no being in nature was so disagreeable 
as a lady at sea," and this recollection has in a great meas- 
ure reconciled me to the thought of being at sea without 
him ; for one would not wish, my dear sister, to be thought 
of in that light by those, to whom we would wish to appear 
in our best array. The decency and decorum of the most 
delicate female must in some measure yield to the necessi- 
ties of nature ; and, if you have no female capable of ren- 
dering you the least assistance, you will feel grateful to any 
one who will feel for you, and relieve or compassionate 
your sufferings. 

And this was truly the case of your poor sister and all 
her female companions, when not one of us could make her 
own bed, put on or take off her shoes, or even lift a finger. 

219 



The Friendly Craft 

As to our other clothing, we wore the greater part of it 
until we were able to help ourselves. Added to this mis- 
fortune, Briesler, my man-servant, was as bad as any of 
us. But for Job, I know not what we should have done. 
Kind, attentive, quick, neat, he was our nurse for two days 
and nights ; and, from handling the sails at the top-gallant- 
mast head, to the more feminine employment of making 
wine-cordial, he has not his equal on board. In short, he 
is the favorite of the whole ship. Our sickness continued 
for ten days, with some intermissions. We crawled upon 
deck whenever we were able ; but it was so cold and damp, 
that we could not remain long upon it. And the confine- 
ment of the air below, the constant rolling of the vessel, 
and the nausea of the ship, which was much too tight, con- 
tributed to keep up our disease. The vessel is very deep 
loaded with oil and potash. The oil leaks, the potash 
smokes and ferments. All adds to Xht flavor. When you 
add to all this the horrid dirtiness of the ship, the sloven- 
liness of the steward, and the unavoidable slopping and 
spiUing occasioned by the tossing of the ship, I am sure 
you will be thankful that the pen is not in the hand of 
Swift or SmoUet, and still more so that you are far re- 
moved from the scene. No sooner was I able to move, 
than I found it necessary to make a bustle amongst the 
waiters, and demand a cleaner abode. By this time, 
Briesler was upon his feet, and, as I found I might reign 
mistress on board without any offence, I soon exerted my 
authority with scrapers, mops, brushes, infusions of vine- 
gar, &c., and in a few hours you would have thought your- 
self in a different ship. Since which, our abode is much 
more tolerable, and the gentlemen all thank me for my 
care. . . . 

Our accommodations on board are not what I could wish, 
or hoped for. We cannot be alone, only when the gentle- 

220 



An Indelicate Situation 

men are thoughtful enough to retire upon deck, which they 
do for about an hour in the course of the day. Our state- 
rooms are about half as large as cousin Betsey's little 
chamber, with two cabins in each. Mine had three, but I 
could not live so. Upon which Mrs. Adams's brother gave 
up his to Abby, and we are now stowed two and two. 
This place has a small grated window, which opens into 
the companion-way, and by this is the only air admitted. 
The door opens into the cabin, where the gentlemen all 
sleep, and where we sit, dine, &c. We can only live 
with our door shut, whilst we dress and undress. Neces- 
sity has no law ; but what should I have thought on shore, 
to have laid myself down to sleep in common with half a 
dozen gentlemen? We have curtains, it is true, and we 
only in part undress, about as much as the Yankee 
bundlers ; but we have the satisfaction of falling in with a 
set of well-behaved, decent gentlemen, whose whole de- 
portment is agreeable to the strictest delicacy, both in 
word and action. . . . 

Gouverneur Morris journeys to the " far west," sees 
Niagara, and prophesies the future of the country 

(To John Parrish, Jan, 20, 1801) 

THERE is a brilliance in our atmosphere you can 
have no idea of, except by going to Italy, or else 
by viewing one of Claude Lorraine's best landscapes, and 
persuading yourself that the light there exhibited is a just 
though faint copy of nature. I believe there is much more 
water in the St. Lawrence than in the Danube at Vienna. 
Of the rapids I can say nothing ; still less can I pretend 
to convey to you the sentiment excited by a view of the 
lake. It is to all purposes of human vision an ocean : 
the same majestic motion, too, in its billows. ... To 

221 



The Friendly Craft 

form a faint idea of the Cataract of Niagara, imagine that 
you saw the Firth of Forth rush wrathfully down a steep 
descent, leap foaming over a perpendicular roclc one hun- 
dred and seventy feet high, then flow away in the sem- 
blance of milk from a basin of emerald. A quiet, gentle 
stream leaves the shores of a country level and fertile, and 
along the banks of this stream we proceed to Fort Erie. 
Here again the boundless waste of waters fills the mind 
with renewed astonishment, and here, as in turning a 
point of wood the lake broke on my view, I saw riding 
at anchor nine vessels, the least of them above a hundred 
tons. Can you bring your imagination to realize this 
scene? Does it not seem like magic? Yet this magic is 
but the early effort of victorious industry. Hundreds of 
large ships will, in no distant period, bound on the billows 
of these inland seas. At this point commences a naviga- 
tion of more than a thousand miles. Shall I lead your 
astonishment up to the verge of incredulity? I will. 
Know, then, that one-tenth of the expense borne by 
Britain in the last campaign would enable ships to sail 
from London through Hudson's River into Lake Erie. 
As yet, my friend, we only crawl along the outer edge of 
our country. The interior excels the part we inhabit in 
soil, in climate, in everything. 

The proudest empire in Europe is but a bubble com- 
pared to what America will be, must be, in the course of 
two centuries — perhaps of one. . . . 

Dr. Holmes rails against taverns ^^::!y ^;^ -^^ 

(To James T. Fields) 

Montreal, October 23, 1867 

DEAR MR. FIELDS, — ... I am as comfortable 
here as I can be, but I have earned my money, for 
I have had a full share of my old trouble. Last night was 

222 



What Don't They Do? 

better, and to-day I am going about the town. Miss 
Frothingham sent me a basket of black Hamburg grapes 
to-day, which were very grateful after the hotel tea and 
coffee and other Apothecary's stuff. 

Don't talk to me about taverns! There is just one 
genuine, clean, decent, palatable thing occasionally to be 
had in them — namely, a boiled egg. The soups tasle 
pretty good sometimes, but their sources are involved in 
a darker mystery than that of the Nile. Omelets taste as 
if they had been carried in the waiter's hat or fried in an 
old boot. I ordered scrambled eggs one day. It must 
be that they had been scrambled for by somebody^ but 
who — who in the possession of a sound reason could hdiwe. 
scrambled for what I had set before me under that name? 
Butter! I am thinking just now of those exquisite little 
pellets I have so often seen at your table, and wondering 
why the taverns always keep it until it is old. Fool that 
I am ! As if the taverns did not know that if it was good 
it would be eaten, which is not what they want. Then the 
waiters with their napkins — what don't they do with those 
napkins ! Mention any one thing of which you think you 
can say with truth, " That they do not do." . . . 

I have a really fine parlor, but every time I enter it I 
perceive that 

Still, sad " odor " of humanity 

which clings to it from my predecessor. Mr. Hogan got 
home yesterday, I believe. I saw him for the first time 
to-day. He was civil — they all are civil. I have no 
fault to find except with taverns here and pretty much 
everywhere. 

Every six months a tavern should burn to the ground, 
with all its traps, its "properties," its beds and pots and 
kettles, and start afresh from its ashes like John Phoenix- 
Squibob ! 

223 



The Friendly Craft 

No ; give me home, or a home Hke mine, where all is 
clean and sweet, where coffee has preexisted in the berry, 
and tea has still faint recollections of the pigtails that 
dangled about the plant from which it was picked, where 
butter has not the prevaiHng character which Pope assigned 
to Denham, where soup could look you in the face if it had 
"eyes'' (which it has not), and where the comely Anne 
or the gracious Margaret takes the place of those napkin- 
bearing animals. 

Enough ! But I have been forlorn and aihng and fastid- 
ious — but I am feeling a little better, and can talk about 
it. I had some ugly nights, I tell you ; but I am writing 
in good spirits, as you see. ... 

P.S. Made a pretty good dinner, after all ; but better a 
hash at home than a roast with strangers. . . . 

Henry D. Thoreau carries Concord ground and 
thoughts to Staten Island -<::> -^^^ -^^ ^:> 

(To Mrs. Ralph Waldo Emerson) 

Castleton, Staten Island, May 22, 1843 

MY DEAR FRIEND, — I believe a good many con- 
versations with you were left in an unfinished state, 
and now indeed I don't know where to take them up. 
But I will resume some of the unfinished silence. I shall 
not hesitate to know you. I think of you as some elder 
sister of mine, whom I could not have avoided, — a sort 
of lunar influence, — only of such age as the moon, whose 
time is measured by her- light. You must know that you 
represent to me woman, for I have not traveled very far or 
wide, — and what if I had? I like to deal with you, for I 
believe you do not lie or steal, and these are very rare vir- 
tues. I thank you for your influence for two years. I was 

224 



Keeping Life "On Loft" 

fortunate to be subjected to it, and am now to remember 
it. It is the noblest gift we can make ; what signify all 
others that can be bestowed? You have helped to keep 
my life " on loft," as Chaucer says of Griselda, and in a 
better sense. You always seemed to look down at me as 
from some elevation, — some of your high humilities, — 
and I was the better for having to look up. I felt taxed 
not to disappoint your expectation ; for could there be any 
accident so sad as to be respected for something better 
than we are? It was a pleasure even to go away from you, 
as it is not to meet some, as it apprised me of my high re- 
lations ; and such a departure is a sort of further introduc- 
tion and meeting. Nothing makes the earth seem so 
spacious as to have friends at a distance ; they make the 
latitudes and longitudes. 

You must not think that fate is so dark there, for even 
here I can see a faint reflected light over Concord, and I 
think that at this distance I can better weigh the value of 
a doubt there. Your moonlight, as I have told you, though 
it is a reflection of the sun, allows of bats and owls and 
other twilight birds to flit therein. But I am very glad 
that you can elevate your life without a doubt, for I am sure 
that it is nothing but an insatiable faith after all that 
deepens and darkens its current. And your doubt and my 
confidence are only a difference of expression. 

I have hardly begun to live on Staten Island yet ; but, 
like the man who, when forbidden to tread on English 
ground, carried Scottish ground in his boots, I carry Con- 
cord ground in my boots and in my hat, — and am I not 
made of Concord dust? I cannot realize that it is the roar 
of the sea I hear now, and not the wind in Walden woods. 
I find more of Concord, after all, in the prospect of the 
seas, beyond Sandy Hook, than in the fields and woods. 

If you were to have this Hugh the gardener for your 
Q 225 



The Friendly Craft 

man, you would think a new dispensation had commenced. 
He miglit put a fairer aspect on the natural world for you, 
or at any rate a screen between you and the almshouse. 
There is a beautiful red honeysuckle now in blossom in the 
woods here, which should be transplanted to Concord ; and 
if what they tell me about the tulip tree be true, you should 
have that also. I have not seen Mrs. Black yet, but I in- 
tend to call on her soon. Have you established those 
simpler modes of living yet? — "In the full tide of suc- 
cessful operation ? " 

Tell Mrs. Brown that I hope she is anchored in a secure 
haven and derives much pleasure still from reading the 
poets, and that her constellation is not quite set from my 
sight, though it is sunk so low in that northern horizon. 
Tell Elizabeth Hoar that her bright present did " carry ink 
safely to Staten Island," and was a conspicuous object in 
Master Haven^s inventory of my effects. Give my respects 
to Madam Emerson, whose Concord face I should be glad 
to see here this summer ; and remember me to the rest of 
the household who have had a vision of me. Shake a day- 
day to Edith, and say good-night to Ellen for me. Fare- 
well. 

Francis Parkman objects to Western manners ^;:> 

Cincinnati, April ()\h, 1846 
|EAR MOTHER,— . . . To-day I reached Cin- 



D' 



cinnati, after a two days' passage down the Ohio. 
The boat was good enough though filled with a swarm of 
half-civilized reprobates, gambling, swearing, etc., among 
themselves. . . . The great annoyance on board these 
boats is the absurd haste of everybody to gulp down their 
meals. Ten minutes suffices for dinner, and it requires 
great skill and assiduity to secure a competent allowance 

226 



A Set of Beasts 

in that space of time. As I don't much fancy this sort of 
proceeding, I generally manage to carry off from the table 
enough to alleviate the pangs of hunger without choking 
myself. The case is much the same here in the best hotel 
in Cincinnati. When you sit down, you must begin with- 
out delay — grab whatever is within your reach, and keep 
hold of the plate by main force till you have helped your- 
self. Eat up as many potatoes, onions, or turnips as you 
can lay your hands on ; and take your meat afterwards, 
whenever you have a chance to get it. It is only by econo- 
mizing time in this fashion that you can avoid starvation 
— such a set of beasts are these Western men. ... I am, 
dear mother, 

Very affectionately yrs, 

F. P. 

The varied experiences of an Abolitionist lecturer -s:> 
(From Miss Sallie Holley) 

I 

SHALL I tell you what anti-slavery hospitality is 
in Pennsylvania? It is to be ushered into 
a small, close, stove-heated room, where seven or eight 
grown up persons and children have already breathed over 
the air two or three times ; introduced to a tall, unshaven, 
uncombed, unwashed man with terribly dirty clothes and 
boots thick with mud and manure ; your things taken off, 
you are presently invited out into a dirty, dingy kitchen 
to sit down to highly-spiced sausages, or a dish here 
denominated " scrapple," and hot, thick, heavy pancakes, 
picking out two or three flies from your drink whatever it 
may be. 

And though you have been lecturing an hour and a half 
that day, besides riding through rain and mud several 

227 



The Friendly Craft 

miles, you are expected to entertain the friends with how 
delighted you are with anti-slavery in Pennsylvania; how 
you enjoy travelling about and seeing their beautiful State ; 
how much you enjoy their warm-hearted hospitality ; how 
liberal friends are in this region, etc., etc. An hour passes 
and you are asked to ascend to a cold, uncomfortable, half 
furnished apartment. There you lie until morning, when 
again you go through the charming experience of the even- 
ing before. 

Then you ride eight or ten miles to the next appoint- 
ment. All along the road you are told that Lancaster 
County is the greatest wheat-growing county in the world ; 
that Chester County contains more woman's rights women 
than any other in the world ; that my style of lecturing 
being so " moral and religious," not exciting anger or 
resentment, is remarkably adapted to this region. . . . 

II 

Byberry, Pa., November 26, 1852 

AM now staying at the elegant country home of 
Robert Purvis. It may be called " Saints' Rest," 
for here all abolitionists find that " the wicked cease from 
troubling and the weary are at rest." The house and ex- 
tensive grounds are in tasteful English style. 

Mr. Purvis is a coloured man, but so light that no 
stranger would suspect it. His wife is very lady-like in 
manners and conversation ; something of the ease and 
blandness of a southern lady. The style of living here is 
quite uncommonly rich and elegant. Upon my arrival I 
was ushered into a beautiful room where there was a fine 
wood fire blazing most delightfully in an open fire place. 
It was so charming to me after my twenty miles' ride through 
the mud and cold. 

228 



I 



An Excellent Beginning 

What a pity that homely, gloomy stoves should be 
allowed to take the place of open fires ! Why, in a few 
generations more the words hearth and fireside will have 
no meaning. People will have no idea what they signify. 
The golden age of open fires is indeed departing. I am 
writing in a very cheerful "upper chamber/' and feel re- 
markably amiable, staying in such a beautiful home. As 
Mr. Skimpole said of his lying on the soft grass and looking 
up through the trees to the blue sky, it " must be what I 
was made for, it suits me so exactly." . . . 

Henry D. Thoreau glories in the stormy hospitality of 
Monadnock ^^^ '^::^ ^^::>' ^^::>' ^:> ^^^ 
Concord, November 4, i860 

MR. BLAKE, — ... We made an excellent begin- 
ning of our mountain life. You may remember that 
the Saturday previous was a stormy day. Well, we went 
up in the rain, — wet through, — and found ourselves in a 
cloud there at mid-afternoon, in no situation to look about 
for the best place for a camp. So I proceeded at once, 
through the cloud, to that memorable stone, " chunk yard," 
in which we made our humble camp once, and there, after 
putting our packs under a rock, having a good hatchet, I 
proceeded to build a substantial house, which Channing 
declared the handsomest he ever saw. (He never camped 
out before, and was, no doubt, prejudiced in its favor.) 
This was done about dark, and by that time we were nearly 
as wet as if we had stood in a hogshead of water. We 
then built a fire before the door, directly on the site of our 
little camp of two years ago, and it took a long time to burn 
through its remains to the earth beneath. Standing before 
this, and turning round slowly, like meat that is roasting, 
we were as dry, if not drier, than ever, after a few hours, 
and so at last we " turned in." 

229 



The Friendly Craft 

This was a great deal better than going up there in fair 
weather, and having no adventure (not knowing how to 
appreciate either fair weather or foul) but dull, common- 
place sleep in a useless house, and before a comparatively 
useless fire, — such as we get every night. Of course we 
thanked our stars, when we saw them, which was about 
midnight, that they had seemingly withdrawn for a season. 
We had the mountain all to ourselves that afternoon and 
night. There was nobody going up that day to engrave 
his name on the summit, nor to gather blueberries. The 
genius of the mountain saw us starting from Concord, and 
it said. There come two of our folks. Let us get ready for 
them. Get up a serrous storm, that will send a-packing these 
holiday guests. (They may have their say another time.) 
Let us receive them with true mountain hospitality, — kill 
the fatted cloud. Let them know the value of a spruce 
roof, and of a fire of dead spruce stumps. Every bush 
dripped tears of joy at our advent. Fire did its best, and 
received our thanks. What could fire have done in fair 
weather ? Spruce roof got its share of our blessings. And 
then, such a view of the wet rocks, with the wet lichens on 
them, as we had the next morning, but did not get again ! 

We and the mountain had a sound season, as the saying 
is. How glad we were to be wet, in order that we might 
be dried ! How glad we were of the storm which made 
our house seem like a new home to us ! This day^s experi- 
ence was indeed lucky, for we did not have a thunder- 
shower during all our stay. Perhaps our host reserved 
this attention in order to tempt us to come again. 

Our next house was more substantial still. One side 
was rock, good for durability ; the floor the same ; and 
the roof which I made would have upheld a horse. I stood 
on it to do the shingling. 

I noticed, when I was at the White Mountains last, 

230 



Dancing on Monadnock 

several nuisances which render traveling thereabouts un- 
pleasant. The chief of these was the mountain houses. I 
might have supposed that the main attraction of that re- 
gion, even to citizens, lay in its wildness and unlikeness to 
the city, and yet they make it as much like the city as they 
can afford to. I heard that the Crawford House was 
lighted with gas, and had a large saloon, with its band of 
music, for dancing. But give me a spruce house made in 
the rain. 

An old Concord farmer tells me that he ascended Mo- 
nadnock once, and danced on the top. How did that hap- 
pen ? Why, he being up there, a party of young men and 
women came up, bringing boards and a fiddler; and hav- 
ing laid down the boards, they made a level floor, on which 
they danced to the music of the fiddle. I suppose the 
tune was " Excelsior." This reminds me of a fellow who 
climbed to the top of a very high spire, stood upright on the 
ball, and hurrahed for — what ? Why, for Harrison and 
Tyler. That's the kind of sound which most ambitious 
people emit when they culminate. They are wont to be 
singularly frivolous in the thin atmosphere ; they can't con- 
tain themselves, though our comfort and their safety re- 
quire it ; it takes the pressure of many atmospheres to do 
this ; and hence they helplessly evaporate there. It would 
seem that as they ascend, they breathe shorter and shorter, 
and, at each expiration^ some of their wits leave them, till, 
when they reach the pinnacle, they are so light-headed as 
to be fit only to show how the wind sits. I suspect that 
Emerson's criticism called " Monadnock " was inspired, 
not by remembering the inhabitants of New Hampshire 
as they are in the valleys, so much as by meeting some of 
them on the mountain-top. 

After several nights' experience, Channing came to the 
conclusion that he was "lying outdoors," and inquired 

231 



The Friendly Craft 

what was the largest beast that might nibble his legs there. 
I fear that he did not improve all the night, as he might 
have done, to sleep. I had asked him to go and spend a 
week there. We spent five nights, being gone six days, 
for C. suggested that six working days made a week, and 
I saw that he was ready to decainp. However, he found 
his account in it as well as I. . . . 

Yes, to meet men on an honest and simple footing, meet 
with rebuffs, suffer from sore feet, as you did, — ay, and 
from a sore heart, as perhaps you also did, — all that is 
excellent. What a pity that that young prince ^ could not 
enjoy a little of the legitimate experience of travehng — be 
dealt with simply and truly, though rudely. He might 
have been invited to some hospitable house in the country, 
had his bowl of bread and milk set before him, with a clean 
pinafore ; been told that there were the punt and the fish- 
ing-rod, and he could amuse himself as he chose ; might 
have swung a few birches, dug out a woodchuck, and had 
a regular good time, and finally been sent to bed with the 
boys, — and so never have been introduced to Mr. Everett 
at all. I have no doubt that this would have been a far 
more memorable and valuable experience than he got. 

The snow-clad summit of Mt. Washington must have 
been a very interesting sight from Wachuset. How whole- 
some winter is, seen far or near ; how good, above all mere 
sentimental, warm-blooded, short-Hved, soft-hearted, moral 
goodness, commonly so called. Give me the goodness 
which has forgotten its own deeds, — which God has seen 
to be good, and let be. None of your just ?nade perfect^ — 
pickled eels ! All that will save them will be their pictur- 
esqueness, as with blasted trees. Whatever is, and is not 
ashamed to be, is good. I value no moral goodness or 

1 The Prince of Wales, now King Edward VII, then traveling in 
the United States. 

232 



Everything Goes Lazy 

greatness unless it is good or great, even as that snowy 
peak is. Pray, how could thirty feet of bowels improve it ? 
Nature is goodness crystallized. You look into the land, 
of promise. Whatever beauty we behold, the more it is 
distant, serene, and cold, the purer and more durable it is. 
It is better to warm ourselves with ice than with fire. . . . 

Theodore Parker, fresh from Boston, finds Santa Cruz 
slow -^Qy -^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^ 

(To Mrs. Apthorp) 

West-End, Frederikstad, March, 1859 

(Written with a pencil out of doors) 

"In the afternoon they came unto a land 
In which it seemed always afternoon." 

WELL, we have got there, this is the place. With 
nature it seems a perpetual Midsummer's Day, but 
with man it is "always afternoon." I should think the island 
was peopled by lotos-eaters. Everything goes lazy. In the 
morning there is a string of women who go to the spring 
for water, each with a little pipkin, or pitcher, or jug, or 
carafe on her head. In six months, time enough is spent 
to make an acqueduct with a reservoir which would supply 
the whole town with water. The boys do not run even 
down-hill, nor the girls romp. To play hoop, jump rope, 
bat and ball, would be a torture to these dullards. The 
only game I have seen among the children is top ; all the 
little negroes have a top, and spin it on the hard, smooth 
street. The cows don't run to pasture, or from it ; even 
the calves are as sedate as the heaviest oxen, and walk 
decorously up to their milky supper, and pull as leisurely 
as if they worked by the day (to pay an old debt), not by 
the job (and incurring a new one). The ducks lie in the 

233 



The Friendly Craft 

street all day where they can find a shade, and only quack 
and gabble at night when the effort is not too heating. 
Mr. Cockadoodle does not run after the hens ; he only 
walks as deliberately as a Dutchman, and it seems as if he 
ought also to have a pipe in his mouth. The winds blow 
in a gentle sort, and make no dust, though it has not 
rained enough to wet a blanket through this never so long. 
There is a brook outside the little village, but it never runs, 
it has no current. There are no tides in the sea, only a 
little slopping against the coral rock. . . . 

We live with a Mrs. , a widow of 65 years old. 

She condescends to take boarders at 10 dollars a- week, 
and takes the greatest pains to feed them well. She 
belongs to the tip-top aristocracy of the island, and her 
house is the West-Endest promontory of the West-End of 
Santa Cruz. Why, her husband was Herr-Master-Collec- 
tor-General of the Post, when at least 25 ships arrived in 
a year, and he had an income of 20,000 dollars a-year (she 
says), and her house cost 45,000 dollars (so she says). I 
take off a cypher from each sum, and bring it down a little 
by this reduction descending. They used to live in Saus 
und Braus in his time, that they did. What puncheons 
of rum, what pipes of wine and brandy did they not have, 
and what fun, and frolic, and feasting, and dancing, and 
making love, and marrying and giving in marriage. But 
alas ! ^' vergangen ist vergangen, verloren ist verloreny 
The house and all looks now, like the state of things a day 
or two after Noe entered the ark, only the ruin is not by 
water. All the buildings are tumbling down, the garden 
is never hoed or dug, the fences have fallen, the gates with- 
out hinges, the doors lack handles, and the once costly 
furniture has been battered, and neglected, and maltreated, 

till you mourn over it all. . . . Mrs. talks all the time 

about herself and her former grandeur, till she sounds as 

234 



I. Negroes. 2. Pigs 



empty as the Heidelberg tun. In the next life I trust we 
shall be able to hold our ears as well as our tongues. I 
wish I could now. 

The town belongs to the negroes and the pigs. A 
word of each. i. Of the negroes. In the street you see 
nobody but negroes and colored people — fine straight 
backs. All the women are slender. You may walk half 
an hour and not see a white man. One of these days I 
will write a word upon the moral condition of the Africans 
here, and their possible future. It is full of hope. But 
the negro is slow — a loose-jointed sort of animal, a great 
child. 2. The pig. There are lots of pigs in the streets. 
Pigs male and pigs female, pigs young and pigs old. 
Most of them are coal-black, and, like Zaccheus, " little 
of stature.'' They are long-nosed and grave -looking ani- 
mals. I should think they had been through a revival, 
and were preparing for the ministry ; a whole Andover, 
Newton, and Princeton turned into the streets. But they 
are slow^ as are all things here. They do not keep their 
tails flying, like the porkers of New England. A woman, 
not far off, comes out into the street and now and then 
calls, " Pik, pik ! sough, sough ! " {i.e. suff, suff,) and her 
particular pig recognizes the voice and grunts gently, but 
approvingly, and walks home to his dinner, like an Eng- 
lish country gentleman, and not as American members of 
Congress go to their meals. . . . Good bye, dear friend 
that you are. 

T. 



235 



The Friendly Craft 

Charles Sumner rides with the fox-hunting gentry and 
clergy of merrie England ^^^ ^:> «<::> ^;:> 

(To George S. Hillard) 

Milton Park, Dec. 25, 1838 

A MERRY CHRISTMAS to you, dear Hillard! This 
morning greeting I send with the winter winds across 
the Atlantic. It will not reach you till long after this day ; 
but I hope that it will find you happy, — not forgetful of 
your great loss, but remembering it with manly grief, and 
endeavoring in the undoubted present bliss of your dear 
boy to catch a reflected ray for yourself. I am passing 
my Christmas week with Lord Fitzwilliam, in one of the 
large country-houses of old England. I have already 
written you about Wentworth House. The place where 
I now am is older and smaller; in America, however, it 
would be vast. The house is Elizabethan. Here I have 
been enjoying fox-hunting, to the imminent danger of my 
limbs and neck; that they still remain intact is a miracle. 
His Lordship^s hounds are among the finest in the king- 
dom, and his huntsman is reputed the best. There are 
about eighty couples ; the expense of keeping them is 
about five thousand pounds a year. In his stables there 
are some fifty or sixty hunters that are only used with the 
hounds, and of course are unemployed during the summer. 
The exertion of a day^s sport is so great that a horse does 
not go out more than once in a week. I think I have 
never participated in anything more exciting than this 
exercise. The history of my exploits will confirm this. 
The morning after my arrival I mounted, at half-past nine 
o'clock, a beautiful hunter, and rode with Lord Milton 
about six miles to the place of meeting. There were the 
hounds and huntsmen and whippers-in, and about eighty 

236 



Such a Scamper 

horsemen, — the noblemen and gentry and clergy of the 
neighborhood, all beautifully mounted, and the greater 
part in red coats, leather breeches, and white top-boots. 
The hounds were sent into the cover, and it was a grand 
sight to see so many handsome dogs, all of a size, and all 
washed before coming out, rushing into the underwood to 
start the fox. We were unfortunate in not getting a scent 
immediately, and rode from cover to cover ; but soon the 
cry was raised "Tally-ho!" — the horn was blown — the 
dogs barked — the horsemen rallied — the hounds scented 
their way through the cover on the trail of the fox, and 
then started in full run. I had originally intended only to 
ride to cover to see them throw off, and then make my 
way home, believing myself unequal to the probable run ; 
but the chase commenced, and I was in the midst of it ; 
and, being excellently mounted, nearly at the head of it. 
Never did I see such a scamper; and never did it enter 
into my head that horses could be pushed to such speed 
in such places. We dashed through and over bushes, 
leaping broad ditches, splashing in brooks and mud, and 
passing over fences as so many imaginary lines. My first 
fence I shall not readily forget. I was near Lord Milton, 
who was mounted on a thoroughbred horse. He cleared 
a fence before him. My horse pawed the ground and 
neighed. I gave him the rein, and he cleared the fence : 
as I was up in the air for one moment, how was I startled 
to look down and see that there was not only a fence but 
a ditchl He cleared the ditch too. I have said it was my 
first experiment. I lost my balance, was thrown to the 
very ears of the horse, but in some way or other contrived 
to work myself back to the saddle without touching the 
ground {vide some of the hunting pictures of leaps, &c.) . 
How I got back I cannot tell ; but I did regain my seat, 
and my horse was at a run in a moment. All this, you 

237 



The Friendly Craft 

will understand, passed in less time by far than it will take 
to read this account. One moment we were in a scamper 
through a ploughed field, another over a beautiful pasture, 
and another winding through the devious paths of a wood. 
I think I may say that in no single day of my life did I 
ever take so much exercise. I have said that I mounted 
at nine and a half o'clock. It wanted twenty minutes of 
five when I finally dismounted, not having been out of the 
saddle more than thirty seconds during all this time, and 
then only to change my horse, taking a fresh one from a 
groom who was in attendance. During much of this time 
we were on a full run. 

The next day had its incidents. The place of meeting 
for the hounds was about fourteen miles from the house. 
Our horses were previously led thither by grooms, and we 
rode there in a carriage and four, with outriders, and took 
our horses fresh. This day I met with a fall. The country 
was very rough, and the fences often quite stiff and high. 
I rode among the foremost, and in going over a fence and 
brook together, came to the ground. My horse cleared 
them both ; and I cleared him, for I went directly over his 
head. Of course he started off, but was soon caught by 
Milton and a parson, who had already made the leap suc- 
cessfully. I should not fail to commemorate the feats of 
the clergymen, as they illustrate the position of this body 
in England. The best and hardest rider in this part of 
the country is reputed to be a clergyman ; and there was 
not a day that I was out that I did not see three or four 
persons rejoicing in the style of " Reverend," and distin- 
guishable from the rest of the habitues by wearing a black 
instead of a red coat. They were among the foremost in 
every field, and cleared fences with great ease. Once we 
came to a very stiff rail fence ; and, as the hounds were not 
in full cry, there was a general stop to see how the different 

238 



"Hurrah for Nash!" 

horses and riders would take it. Many were afraid, and 
several horses refused it. Soon, however, the Rev. Mr. 
Nash, a clergyman of some fifty years, came across the 
field; and the cry was raised, '^Hurrah for Nash! Now 
for Nash!" I need not say that he went over it easily. 
It was the Rev. Mr. Nash who caught my horse. Change 
the scene one moment, and imagine Mr. Greenwood or 
Dr. Lyman Beecher riding at a rail fence, and some thirty 
or forty persons looking on and shouting, " Hurrah for 
Greenwood! Hurrah for Beecher!" None of the clergy- 
men who were out were young men ; they were all more 
than forty-five, if not fifty. They mingled in all the light 
conversation of the field, — one of them told a story which 
I would not venture to trust to this sheet, — and they 
were addressed by all with the utmost familiarity. I did 
not hear one of them addressed by the title of "Mr.," 
except by myself, though most of the company were fifteen 
or twenty years younger than themselves. These little 
things will reveal to you more than several pages of dis- 
sertation. Every day that I was out it rained, — the 
first day incessantly, — and yet I was perfectly unconscious 
of it, so interested did I become in the sport. Indeed, 
sportsmen rather wish a rain, because it makes the ground 
soft. We generally got home about five o'clock ; and I 
will give you the history of the rest of the day, that you 
may see how time passes in one of the largest houses in 
England. Dinner was early, because the sportsmen re- 
turned fatigued, and without having tasted a morsel of 
food since an early breakfast. So, after our return, we 
only had time to dress ; and at five and a half o'clock 
assembled in the library, from which we went in to dinner. 
For three days I was the only guest here, — during the 
last four we have had Professor Whewell, — so that I can 
describe to you what was simply the family establishment. 

239 



The Friendly Craft 

One day I observed that there were only nine of us at 
table, and there were thirteen servants in attendance. Of 
course the service is entirely of silver. You have, in proper 
succession, soup, fish, venison, and the large English 
dishes, besides a profusion of French entrees^ with ice-cream 
and an ample dessert, — Madeira, Sherry, Claret, Port, 
and Champagne. We do not sit long at table ; but return 
to the library, — which opens into two or three drawing- 
rooms, and is itself used as the principal one, — where we 
find the ladies already at their embroidery, and also coffee. 
Conversation goes languidly. The boys are sleepy, and 
Lord Fitzwilliam is serious and melancholy ; and very 
soon I am glad to kill off an hour or so by a game of cards. 
Sometimes his Lordship plays ; at other times he slowly 
peruses the last volume of Prescott's "Ferdinand and 
Isabella.'" About eleven o'clock I am glad to retire to 
my chamber, which is a very large apartment, with two 
large oriel windows looking out upon the lawn where the 
deer are feeding. There I find a glowing fire ; and in 
one of the various easy chairs sit and muse while the fire 
burns, or resort to the pen, ink, and paper, which are 
carefully placed on the table near me. 

I have given you an off-hand sketch of English fox-hunt- 
ing. I was excited and interested by it, I confess ; I 
should like to enjoy it more, and have pressing invitations 
to continue my visit or renew it at some future period. 
But I have moraHzed much upon it, and have been made 
melancholy by seeing the time and money that are lavished 
on this sport, and observing the utter unproductiveness 
of the lives of those who are most earnestly engaged in it, 
— like my Lord's family, whose mornings are devoted to 
it, and whose evenings are rounded by a sleep. . . . 



240 



I 



A Figure Indeed 

William H. Prescott tells his wife all about the Queen 

I 
[London,] Thursday^ 6 p.m. \_Junej 1850] 

WELL, the presentation has come off, and I will 
give you some account of it before going to 
dine with Lord Fitzwilliam. This morning I breakfasted 
with Mr. Monckton Milnes, where I met Macaulay, — the 
third time this week. We had also Lord Lyttleton, — an 
excellent scholar, — Gladstone, and Lord St. Germans, — a 
sensible and agreeable person, — and two or three others. 
We had a lively talk ; but I left early for the Court affair. 
I was at Lawrence's at one, in my costume : a chapeau 
with gold lace, blue coat, and white trousers, begilded 
with buttons and metal, — the coat buttons up, single- 
breasted, to the throat, — a sword, and patent-leather 
boots. I was a figure, indeed ! But I had enough to keep 
me in countenance. I spent an hour yesterday with Lady 
M., getting instructions for demeaning myself. The great- 
est danger was, that I should be tripped up by my own 
sword. On reaching St. James's Palace we passed up- 
stairs through files of the guard, — beef-eaters, — and were 
shown into a large saloon, not larger than the great room 
of the White House, but richly hung with crimson silk, 
and some fine portraits of the family of George the Third. 
It was amusing, as we waited there an hour, to see the 
arrival of the different persons, diplomatic, military, and 
courtiers. All, men and women, blazing in all their stock 
of princely finery ; and such a power of diamonds, pearls^ 
emeralds, and laces, the trains of the ladies' dresses several 
yards in length! Some of the ladies wore coronets of dia- 
monds that covered the greater part of the head, others 
necklaces of diamonds and emeralds, that were a size per- 
R 241 



The Friendly Craft 



fectly enormous. I counted on Lady ""s head two 

strings of diamonds, rising gradually from the size of a 
four pence to the size of an English shilling, and thick in 
proportion. Lady had emeralds mingled with her dia- 
monds, of the finest lustre, as large as pigeon's eggs. The 
parure was not always in the best taste. The Duchess 
of 's dress was studded with diamonds along the bor- 
der and down the middle of the robe, — each of the size 
of half a nutmeg. The young ladies, a great many of 
whom were presented, were dressed generally without 
ornament. I tell all this for Lizzie's especial benefit. The 
company were at length permitted one by one to pass into 
the presence-chamber, — a room of about the same size as 
the other, with a throne and gorgeous canopy at the farther 
end, before which stood the little Queen of the mighty Isle, 
and her consort, surrounded by her ladies in waiting. She 
was rather simply dressed, but he was in a Field-Marshal's 
uniform, and covered, I should think, with all the orders 
of Europe. He is a good-looking person, but by no means 
so good-looking as the portraits of him. The Queen is 
better looking than you might expect. I was presented 
by our Minister, according to the directions of the Cham- 
berlain, as the historian of Ferdinand and Isabella, in due 
form, — and made my profound obeisance to her Majesty, 
who made a very dignified courtesy, as she made to some 
two hundred others, who were presented in like manner. 
Owing to there having been no drawing-room for a long 
time, there was an unusual number of presentations of 
young ladies ; but very few gentlemen were presented. I 
made the same low bow to his Princeship, to whom I was 
also presented, and so bowed myself out of the royal circle, 
without my sword tripping up the heels of my nobility. As 
I was drawing off. Lord Carlisle, who was standing on the 
edge of the royal circle, called me, and kept me by his side, 

242 



I 



Without Embarrassment 

telling me the names of the different lords and ladies, who, 
after paying their obeisance to the Queen, passed out 
before us. He said, he had come to the drawing-room 
to see how I got through the affair, which he thought I 
did without any embarrassment. Indeed, to say truth, I 
have been more embarrassed a hundred times in my life 
than I was here, I don^t know why ; I suppose, because I 
am getting old. . . . 

Your loving husband, 

Wm. H. Prescott 

II 

Castle Howard, Atigust [28th,] 1850 

DEAR WIFE, 
... I have a little time to write before luncheon? 
and must send off the letter then to London to be copied. 
Received yours this morning, complaining I had not 
written by the last. You have got the explanation of it 
since. To resume. The Queen, &c., arrived yesterday in 
a pelting rain, with an escort of cavalry, — a pretty sight 
to those under cover. Crowds of loyal subjects were in 
the park in front of the house to greet her. They must 
have come miles in the rain. She came into the hall in a 
plain travelling-dress, bowing very gracefully to all there, 
and then to her apartments, which occupy the front of the 
building. At eight we went to dinner, all in full dress, but 
mourning for the Duke of Cambridge ; I, of course, for 
President Taylor ! All wore breeches or tight pantaloons. 
It was a brilliant show, I assure you, — that immense table, 
with its fruits and flowers, and lights glancing over beauti- 
ful plate, and in that superb gallery. I was as near the 
Queen as at our own family table. She has a good appe- 
tite, and laughs merrily. She has fine eyes and teeth, but 

243 



The Friendly Craft 



IS short. She was dressed in black silk and lace, with the 
blue scarf of the Order of the Garter across her bosom. 
Her only ornaments were of jet. The Prince, who is cer- 
tainly a handsome and very well-made man, wore the 
Garter with its brilliant buckle round his knee, a showy 
star on his breast, and the collar of a foreign order round 
his neck. Dinner went off very well, except that we had 
no music ; a tribute to Louis-Philippe at the Queen's re- 
quest, — too bad ! We drank the royal healths with pro- 
digious enthusiasm. 

After the ladies retired, the Prince and the other gentle- 
men remained half an hour, as usual. In the evening we 
listened to some fine music, and the Queen examined the 
pictures. Odd enough the etiquette. Lady Carlisle, who 
did the honors like a high-bred lady as she is, and the 
Duchess of Sutherland, were the only ladies who talked 
with her Majesty. Lord Carlisle, her host, was the only 
gentleman who did so, unless she addressed a person her- 
self. No one can sit a moment when she chooses to 
stand. She did me the honor to come and talk with me, 
— asking me about my coming here, my stay in the Castle, 
what I was doing now in the historic way, how Everett 
was, and where he was, — for ten minutes or so; and 
Prince Albert afterwards a long while, talking about the 
houses and ruins in England, and the churches in Belgium, 
and the pictures in the room, and I don't know what. I 
found myself now and then trenching on the rules by inter- 
rupting, &c. ; but I contrived to make it up by a respectful 
" Your Royal Highness," " Your Majesty," &c. I told the 
Queen of the pleasure I had in finding myself in a land 
of friends instead of foreigners, — a sort of stereotype with 
me, — and of my particular good fortune in being under 
the roof with her. She is certainly very much of a lady in 
her manner, with a sweet voice. 

244 



• 



The Bishop of Oxford 

The house is filled with officials, domestics, &c. Over 
two hundred slept here last night. The grounds all round 
the house, as I write, are thronged with thousands of men 
and women, dressed in their best, from the adjacent parts 
of the country. You cannot stir out without seeing a line 
of heads through the iron railing or before the court-yard. 
I was walking in the garden this morning (did I tell you 
that it is a glorious day, luckily?) with the Marchioness 
of Douro, who was dressed in full mourning as a lady in 
waiting, when the crowd set up such a shout! as they 
took her for the Queen. But I must close. God bless 
you, dear ! 

William H. Prescott 

William H. Prescott wears red robes at Oxford -<:> 
(To George Ticknor) 

London, /^^^ 26, 1850 

MY DEAR GEORGE, 
... I returned day before yesterday from a visit 
to the Bishop of Oxford, Wilberforce, you know; one 
of the best-bred men, and most pleasing in conversation, 
that I have met with. However canny he may be in 
his church politics, he is certainly amiable, for uniform 
good-breeding implies a sacrifice of self that is founded on 
benevolence. There was some agreeable company at the 
house, among them a lady, very well read, the daughter 
of a Bishop, who told me she had never heard the name 
of Dr. Channing ! I gave her a great shock by telling 
her I was a Unitarian. The term is absolutely synony- 
mous, in a large party here, with Infidel, Jew, Moham- 
medan ; worse even, because regarded as a wolf in sheep's 
clothing. 

On Monday morning our party at the Bishop's went to 

245 



The Friendly Craft 



Oxford, where Lord Northampton and I were Doctorized 
in due form. We were both dressed in flaming red robes 
(it was the hottest day I have felt here) and then marched 
out in solemn procession with the faculty, &c., in their 
black and red gowns, through the public street, looking, 
that is, we^ like the victims of an auto de fe ; though, I 
believe, on second thoughts, the san benito was yellow. 
The house was well filled by both men and women. The 
Archaeological Society is holding its meetings there. We 
were marched up the aisle ; Professor Phillimore made 
a long Latin exposition of our merits, in which each of the 
adjectives ended, as Southey said in reference to himself 
on a like occasion, in issimtcs ; and amidst the cheers of 
the audience we were converted into Doctors. We lunched 
with the Vice-Chancellor, who told me I should have had 
a degree on Commemoration-day, the regular day; but he 
wrote about me to the Dean of St. PauPs, who was absent 
from town, and so an answer was not received until too 
late. He did not tell me that the principal object of the 
letter was to learn my faith, having some misgivings as to 

my heresy. M wrote him word that he thought my 

books would be found to be vouchers enough for me to 
obtain a degree. So a special convocation was called, 
and my companion in the ceremony was a better man 
than a military chief, like Lord Gough. I like Lord 
Northampton very much. He was at the Bishop's, and 
we drove together from Cuddesdon to Oxford. He is a 
man of very active mind. He told me some good anec- 
dotes ; among others, an answer of the Duke to a gentle- 
man who asked him if he had not been surprised at the 
battle of Waterloo. The Duke coldly replied, '* I never 
was surprised, as well as I can remember, till now, in my 
life." Did you ever hear of his fine answer to a lady who 
was glorifying his victories ? "A victory, ma'am, is the 

246 



Sydney Smith's Repartee 

saddest thing in the world, except a defeat." Now that 
Sydney Smith is gone, Rogers furnishes the nicest touches 
in the way of repartee. His conversation even in his 
dilapidated condition, on his back, is full of salt, not to 
say cayenne. I was praising somebody's good-nature 
very much. '' Yes," he said, " so much good-nature, that 
there is no room for good-sense." . . . 

Of all the notabilities no one has struck me more than 
the Iron Duke. His face is as fresh as a young man's. 
He stoops much and is a little deaf. It is interesting to 
see with what an affectionate and respectful feeling he is 
regarded by all, — not least by the Queen. . . . 

With ever so much love to Anna, and Anika, and little 
Lizzie, 

I remain, dear George, 

Always affectionately yours, 
Wm. H. Prescott 

Bret Harte feels like a defunct English lord ^::> ^s:^ 

(To his wife) 
"The Molt," Salcombe, Kingsbridge, 
Devonshire, Aiig. 19, 1878 

MY DEAR ANNA, ... I wrote you from London a 
day or two ago. Since then I came down here to 
visit Froude (the historian), who has treated me with very 
particular kindness. . . . 

It is without exception, one of the most perfect country 
houses I ever beheld. Imagine, if you can, something 
between "- Locksley Hall " and the ^' High Hall Garden," 
where Maud used to walk, and you have some idea of this 
graceful English home. I look from my windows down 
upon exquisite lawns and terraces all sloping towards the 

247 



The Friendly Craft 

sea wall and then down upon the blue sea below. I walk 
out in the long high garden, past walls hanging with netted 
peaches and apricots, past terraces looking over the ruins 
of an old feudal castle, and I can scarcely believe I am not 
reading an English novel or that I am not mj'self a wan- 
dering ghost. To heighten the absurdity when I return to 
my room I am confronted by the inscription on the door, 
"Lord Devon" (for this is the property of the Earl of 
Devon, and I occupy his favorite room), and I seem to 
have died and to be resting under a gilded mausoleum 
that lies even more than the average tombstone does. 
Froude is a connection of the EarPs, and has hired the 
house for the summer. 

He is a widower, with two daughters and a son. The 
eldest girl is not unlike a highly educated Boston girl, 
and the conversation sometimes reminds me of Boston. 
The youngest daughter, only ten years old, told her sister 
in reference to some conversation Froude and I had that 
^'' she feared''' (this child) "that Mr. Bret Harte was in- 
clined to be sceptical I'''' Doesn't this exceed any English 
story of the precocity of American children ? The boy, 
scarcely fourteen, acts like a boy of eight (an American boy 
of eight) and talks like a man of thirty, as far as pure English 
and facility of expression goes. His manners are perfect, 
yet he is perfectly simple and boylike. The culture and 
breeding of some English children is really marvelous. 
But somehow — and here comes one of my " buts " — there's 
always a suggestion of some repression, some discipline 
that I donH like. Everybody is carefully trained to their 
station, and seldom bursts out beyond it. The respect 
always shown towards me is something fine — and depress- 
ing. I can easily feel how this deference to superiors is 
ingrained in all. 

But Froude — dear old noble fellow — is splendid. I, 

248 



Walking and Talking 

love him more than I ever did in America. He is great, 
broad, manly — democratic in the best sense of the word, 
scorning all sycophancy and meanness, accepting all that is 
around him, yet more proud of his literary profession than 
of his kinship with these people whom he quietly controls. 
There are only a few literary men like him here, but they 
are kings. I could not have had a better introduction to 
them than through Froude, who knows them all, who is 
Tennyson^s best friend, and who is anxious to make my 
entree among them a success. I had forgotten that Canon 
Kingsley, whom you liked so much, is Froude's brother- 
in-law, until Froude reminded me of it. So it is like being 
among friends here. 

So far Fve avoided seeing any company here ; but 
Froude and I walk and walk, and talk and talk. . . . 

ril write you from London. God bless you all. — Your 
affectionate 

Frank 

" He killed the hare " ^:^ ^;:^ ^> ^^ '<::::y x;::^ 

(To T. Edgar Pemberton) 
Y DEAR PEMBERTON, — Don't be alarmed if you 



M 



should hear of my having nearly blown the top of 
my head off. Last Monday I had my face badly cut by 
the recoil of an overloaded gun. I do not know yet be- 
neath these bandages whether I shall be permanently 
marked. At present I am invisible, and have tried to keep 
the accident secret. 

When the surgeon was stitching me together the son of 
the house, a boy of twelve, came timidly to the door of 
my room. '*Tell Mr. Bret Harte it's all right," he said; 
" he killed the hare ! " — Yours always, 

Bret Harte 
249 



The Friendly Craft 

For certain purposes Edwin Laurence Godkin prefers 
England to America '^::> "Q> ^::> ^:::y ^;^ ^^> 

Adhurst St. Mary, Petersfield, [England] 

Aug. 1 6, 1897 

MY DEAR SEDGWICK : — 
There are many things here which would reconcile 
me to America, but there is no country in the world to- 
day in which you can be very happy if you care about 
politics and the progress of mankind, while there are many 
in which you can be very comfortable, if you occupy your- 
self simply with gardening, lawn tennis and true religion. 
This is one of them. I think I could prepare for heaven 
far more easily here than in America. . . . 

Abigail Adams disapproves of Paris and Parisiennes, 
in short, prefers Boston -^^r^ ^^ ^:> ^::> 

(To Miss Cranch) 

MY DEAR LUCY, . . . You inquire of me how I like 
Paris. Why, they tell me I am no judge, for that 
I have not seen it yet. One thing, I know, and that is 
that I have smelt it. If I was agreeably disappointed in 
London, I am as much disappointed in Paris. It is the 
very dirtiest place I ever saw. There are some buildings 
and some squares, which are tolerable ; but in general the 
streets are narrow, the shops, the houses, inelegant and 
dirty, the streets full of lumber and stone, with which they 
build. Boston cannot boast so elegant public buildings ; 
but, in every other respect, it is as much superior in my 
eyes to Paris, as London is to Boston. To have had 
Paris tolerable to me, I should not have gone to London. 
As to the people here, they are more given to hospitality 

250 



A Very Bad One 

than in England, it is said. I have been in company with 
but one French lady since I arrived ; for strangers here 
make the first visit, and nobody will know you until you 
have waited upon them in form. 

This lady I dined with at Dr. Franklin's. She entered 
the room with a careless, jaunty air ; upon seeing ladies 
who were strangers to her, she bawled out, '' Ah ! mon 
Dieu, where is Franklin? Why did you not tell me there 
were ladies here?" You must suppose her speaking all 
this in French. " How I look ! " said she, taking hold of 
a chemise made of tiffany, which she had on over a blue 
lutestring, and which looked as much ujDon the decay as 
her beauty, for she was once a handsome woman ; her hair 
was frizzled ; over it she had a small straw hat, with a dirty 
gauze half-handkerchief round it, and a bit of dirtier gauze, 
than ever my maids wore, was bowed on behind. She had 
a black gauze scarf thrown over her shoulders. She ran 
out of the room ; when she returned, the Doctor entered 
at one door, she at the other ; upon which she ran forward 
to him, caught him by the hand, " Helas ! FrankHn " ; then 
gave him a double kiss, one upon each cheek, and another 
upon his forehead. When we went into the room to dine, 
she was placed between the Doctor and Mr. Adams. She 
carried on the chief of the conversation at dinner, fre- 
quently locking her hand into the Doctor's, and sometimes 
spreading her arms upon the backs of both the gentlemen's 
chairs, then throwing her arm carelessly upon the Doctor's 
neck. 

I should have been greatly astonished at this conduct, 
if the good Doctor had not told me that in this lady I 
should see a genuine Frenchwoman, wholly free from affec- 
tation or stiffness of behaviour, and one of the best women 
in the world. For this I must take the Doctor's word ; 
but I should have set her down for a very bad one, although 

251 



The Friendly Craft 

sixty years of age, and a widow. I own I was highly dis- 
gusted, and never wish for an acquaintance with any ladies 
of this cast. After dinner she threw herself upon a settee, 
where she showed more than her feet. She had a little 
lap-dog, who was, next to the Doctor, her favorite, and 
whom she kissed. This is one of the Doctor's most inti- 
mate friends, with whom he dines once every week, and 
she with him. She is rich, and is my near neighbour ; but 
I have not yet visited her. Thus you see, my dear, that 
manners differ exceedingly in different countries. I hope, 
however, to find amongst the French ladies manners more 
consistent with my ideas of decency, or I shall be a mere 
recluse. 

You must write to me, and let me know all about you ; 
marriages, births, and preferments ; every thing you can 
think of. Give my respects to the Germantown family. 
I shall begin to get letters for them by the next vessel. 

Good night. Believe me 

Your most affectionate aunt, 

A. A. 

Celia Thaxter loses her heart and exhausts her adjec- 
tives in Milan ^;::> ^;:> ^q::^ ^;:> ^^i^^ ^^ ^::> --v^ 



G 



(To Mrs. Annie Fields) 

OLD carnations ! Yes, just as true as you live, 
cloth-of-gold carnations ! I saw them heaped 
in a shop-window ; the color of those great gold roses at 
home (Marshal — what do you call them ?). With these 
eyes I saw them just now ! 

Oh this place! it is so charming! One eternal and 
chronic Italian opera all day and all night. Such great 
basses and tenors superbly sounding through the night ; 
such flashing dark eyes and midnight hair; and men of 

252 



The Pathos of It All 

all sorts and sizes, all wearing long cloaks with one end 
cast over the shoulder with a grace which is indescribable; 
and women wearing over the head a square of black lace, 
one corner gathered over the head, the rest falling over 
the shoulders and down the back — oh, so lovely! Every 
woman wears this headgear, of poorer or richer materials, 
and to the older and more scraggy it gives a kind of 
dignity and grace ; but on the young and fair, ye gods ! 
how beautiful it is! Oh, the sights in the streets I how 
fascinating ! Last night we went out, soon after we arrived, 
into the splendid arcade through the square, where the 
colossal statue of Leonardo da Vinci loomed white in 
the moonlight, with the four pupils at the corners of the 
lofty pedestal. Through the wonderful arcade we passed, 
— it was all glittering with shops and royal stuffs and 
jewels, — and out into the square beyond, where the 
cathedral lifted its forest of white marble spires, like 
frostwork, to the moon ; wonderful, wonderful ! This 
morning we cHmbed up and out on its roof in the midst 
of those exquisite spires, each with its statue atop. The 
city lay half in soft haze below, half revealed — a lovely 
picture. This afternoon we went to a great performance 
in the cathedral. The immense interior was filled with a 
great multitude. There were clouds of incense, and cords 
of golden crosses and tons of candles flaring. The long 
procession moved round the church among the people with 
singing, chanting, and organ-playing, I saw a priest the 
living image of John G. Whittier, and a younger one who 
looked like my Roland. But a great many of them were 
very piggy indeed. Oh, their laces, their silks, their gold 
and silver and precious stones, their bowing and courtesy- 
ing, how tedious! how like the dancing of the common 
Lancers of our country! But the people! Oh, the pathos 
of it all ! Every face a study ! Such devotion, such love 

253 



T 



The Friendly Craft 

and sorrow and fearful hope ! In all the service in England 
and everywhere there is but one cry to which my heart 
responds. It seems the one significant utterance. It is, 
" Lord have mercy upon us," helpless and defenseless that 
we are. It seems to me the whole thing might be simpli- 
fied into that one cry. ... 

Washington Irving visits a German " Bracebridge 
Hall" ^^^ -"^^ ^^:> ^^:> ^^:^ ^^:^ -<:::> 
(To C. R. Leslie) 

Dresden, March 15, 1823 

*HE place where I am now passing my time is 
a complete study. The court of this little king- 
dom of Saxony is, perhaps, the most ceremonious and old- 
fashioned in Europe, and one finds here customs and 
observances in full vigor that have long since faded away 
in other courts. 

The king is a capital character himself. A complete 
old gentleman of the ancient school, and very tenacious in 
keeping up the old style. He has treated me with the 
most marked kindness, and every member of the royal 
family has shown me great civility. What would greatly 
delight you is the royal hunting establishment, which the 
king maintains at a vast expense, being his hobby. He 
has vast forests stocked with game, and a complete forest 
poHce, forest masters, chasseurs, piqueurs, jagers, &c., 
&c. The charm of the thing is, that all this is kept up in 
the old style ; and to go out hunting with him, you might 
fancy yourself in one of those scenes of old times which we 
read of in poetry and romance. I have followed him thrice 
to the boar hunt. The last we had extremely good sport. 
The boar gave us a chase of upwards of two hours, and 
was not overpowered until it had killed one dog, and des- 

254 



Helter Skelter 

perately wounded several others. It was a very cold winter 
day, with much snow on the ground ; but as the hunting was 
in a thick pine forest and the day was sunny, we did not feel 
the cold. The king and all his hunting retinue were clad 
in an old-fashioned hunting uniform of green, with green 
caps. The sight of the old monarch and his retinue gal- 
loping through the alleys of the forest, the jagers dashing 
singly about in all directions, cheering the hounds ; the 
shouts ; the blasts of horns ; the cry of hounds ringing 
through the forest, altogether made one of the most animat- 
ing scenes I ever beheld. . . . 

Being an account of the way in which Charles Godfrey 
Leland " took Europe like a pie " '^^^ ^^^ ^^^ 

(To Henry Perry Leland) 
Paris, Latin Quarter (cheap and fly !) 

le 1 8 Nov. cold and clear 

MY OWN BRAVE HARRY, — God bless you a 
thousand times for your letter, dated nothing at 
all, which came by the last steamer. I feel warmed to the 
soul to think what a good friend I have at home in thee. 
Oh, a thousand blessings on thy warm, true heart ! . . . 
As for my Polish business, it was a wild, adventurous, 
nightmare piece of business which makes me shudder 
when I think of it. Oh, that silent, dead, ghastly land, 
with its long dead levels and moaning pine forests and 
mud — mud ! It was dreary and witchlike and wild. But 
that delicious rainy morning, at four o'clock, at the mercy 
of a pack of Russians in a wilderness ! How jolly Vienna 
was ! Oh, the theatre and cafes, etc., etc. Won't I talk 
when I return ! And the whole journey, helter skelter, 
pipe in mouth, and devil take the odds. Didn't we go it ! 
I was the Individ, as enjoyed myself. Sometimes half 



The Friendly Craft 

dead with fatigue, cold and hunger, and then, plump, slap 
into the /at of the land. And such a companion ! Didn't 
he travel into the tobacco and wine and beer ! We took 
Europe like a pie between us and helped ourselves. Then 
came Berlin, and' the American students, and a public ball, 
and all sorts of fun, and the glorious gallery, and then 
Hanover and an advejiture^ and then Westphalia, and 
Cologne, and Rotterdam, and Amsterdam. Holland is a 
mean sort of a snobbish land, devilish dear, and I trav- 
elled through it to say Fd been there, for it is terribly 
deficient in all attractions or curious articles. It's 4. Fm 
off to dinner, cheap and common, and then — Don 
Giovanni with Lablache and Grisi. Don't you (and 
don't /) wish you were with me? . . . 

Why travel ? ^::> ^^> ^^ <^ ^c> ^;:y ^:> ^s> 

(Catharine Sedgwick to Mrs. K. S. Minot) 

Lenox, September 28, 1851 
T is good, as the burdens of age accumulate, to 



I 



shake them all off; to change old, tiresome ideas 
for new ones ; to take a world of fresh impressions ; to 
fill the store-house of imagination with new and beautiful 
images ; to gain assurance to uncertain opinions ; to 
verify old fancies ; to throw off some of your old social 
burdens while you extend the social chain ; in short, to go 
to Italy and come home again ! And I think it would be 
a good plan, Kate, to send out one of the family every 
year to bring home " bread and fruit " for those that must 
stay at home. Plowshares and reaping-hooks are grand 
things, but one would like some of the delectations of life. 
It was a convenient way of watering the earth in the old 
times of Adam and Eve by dews, but the clouds and 
rainbows are the fine arts of Nature. . . . 

256 



Words of Comfort 

X 

MAKERS OF HISTORY 

John Winthrop is elected governor of the Massachu- 
setts Company ^^^ ^^ ^:> ^;:> ^^> ^o ^:> 

("To my verye lovinge Wife, M^^ Winthrop the elder 
at Groton, Suff'k") 

MY DEARE WIFE, — I am verye sorry that I am 
forced to feed thee w*^^ lettres, when my presence 
is thy due, & so much desired : but my trust is, that he 
who hath so disposed of it, will supply thee w*^ patience, 
& better comforte in the want of him whom thou so 
much desirest : The Lord is able to doe this, & thou 
mayst expect it, for he hath promised it. Seeinge he 
calls me into his worke, he will have care of thee & all 
o^^ & o^ affaires in my absence : therefore I must sende 
thee to him, for all thou lackest : goe boldly (sweet wife) 
to the throne of Grace ; if any thinge trouble thee, 
acquainte the Lord w*^ it ; tell him, he hath taken thy 
husband from thee, pray him to be a husband to thee, 
a father to thy children, a master to thy householde, 
thou shalt finde him faithfull : thou art not guilty of 
my departure, thou hast not driven me awaye by any 
unkindnesse, or want of dutye, therefore thou mayst 
challenge protection & blessinge of him. 

I prayse the Lorde I am in heahh & cheerfull in my 
course, wherein I find God gratiously present, so as we 
expect, he wilbe pleased to direct & prosper us. We 
have great advantage because we have many prayers. 

Bee not discouraged (deare heart) though I sett thee 
no tyme of my returne ; I hope it shall not be longe, & 
I will make no more staye then I needs must, 
s 257 



The Friendly Craft 

So it is that it hath pleased the Lorde to call me to 
a further trust in this businesse of the Plantation, then 
either I expected or finde myselfe fitt for, (beinge chosen 
by the Company to be their Governor) . The onely thinge 
that I have comforte of in it is, that heerby I have 
assurance that my charge is of the Lorde & that he 
hath called me to this worke : O that he would give 
me an heart now to answeare his goodnesse to me, & 
the expectation of his people! I never had more need 
of prayers, helpe me (deare wife) & lett us sett o^ hearts 
to seeke the Lorde, & cleave to him sincearly. 

My brothers & sisters salute you all : my sonne remem- 
bers his dutye to thee, & salutations to all the rest. 
Comende me kindly to all o^ friends at Groton hall, & 
to M^ Leigh & his wife, my neighbo^ Cole & his wife, 
o^ friends at Castleins & all that love us. So the Lorde 
blesse thee & all o^ children & companye. So I kisse 
my sweet wife & rest 

thy faith full husband Jo : Winthrop 

Octob: 20 1629 

I would faine knowe if thou shalt be like to goe w*^ me, 
for thou shalt never have so good opportunity. Let John 
enq^ out 2 : or 3 : Carpenters : & knowe how many of 
o^ neighbo^^ will goe, that we may provide shipps for 
them. . . . 

Governor Bradford explains to Mr. Weston the delay 
in sending back the " Mayflower " ^^^ ^^:^ '<::n^ 

S^ : Your large letter written to M^ Carver, and dated 
y^ 6. of July, 1621, I have received y^ 10. of Novemb'*, 
wherein (after y^ apologie made for your selfe) you lay 
many heavie imputations upon him and us all. Touching 

258 



Great Tribulation 

him, he is departed this life, and now is at rest in y^ Lord 
from all those troubls and incoumbrances with which we 
are yet to strive. He needs not my apologie ; for his care 
and pains was so great for y® commone good, both ours 
and yours, as that therewith (it is thought) he oppressed 
him selfe and shortened his days ; of whose loss we cannot 
sufficiently complaine. At great charges in this adventure, 
I confess you have beene, and many losses may sustaine ; 
but y® loss of his and many other honest and industrious 
mens Hves, cannot be vallewed at any prise. Of y^ one, 
ther® may be hope of recovery, but y® other no recompence 
can make good. But I will not insiste in generalls, but 
come more perticulerly to y^ things them selves. You 
greatly blame us for keeping y^ ship so long in y® countrie, 
and then to send her away emptie. She lay 5. weks at 
Cap-Codd, whilst with many a weary step (after a long 
journey) and the indurance of many a hard brunte, we 
sought out in the foule winter a place of habitation. Then 
we went in so tedious a time to make provission to sheelter 
us and our goods, aboute w^^ labour, many of our armes & 
leggs can tell us to this day we were not necligent. But 
it pleased God to vissite us then, with death dayly, and 
with so generall a disease, that the living were scarce 
able to burie the dead ; and y® well not in any measure 
sufficiente to tend y^ sick. And now to be so greatly 
blamed, for not fraighting y^ ship, doth indeed goe near 
us, and much discourage us. But you say you know we 
will pretend weaknes ; and doe you think we had not 
cause? Yes, you tell us you beleeve it, but it was more 
weaknes of judgmente, then of hands. Our weaknes herin 
is great we confess, therefore we will bear this check 
patiently amongst y^ rest, till God send us wiser men. But 
they which tould you we spent so much time in discoursing 
& consulting, &c., their harts can tell their toungs, they 

259 



The Friendly Craft 

lye. They cared not, so they might salve their owne sores, 
how they wounded others. Indeed, it is our callamitie 
that we are (beyound expectation) yoked with some ill 
conditioned j)eople, who will never doe good, but corrupte 
and abuse others, &c. . . . 

Samuel Sewall protests against the acting of plays '^^ 

(" To the hon^^^ Isaac Addington Esqr. Secretary. To be 
Comunicated to his .Excellency the Governour, and 
to the honorable Council ") 

Boston of the Massachusetts; March 2, 1713-14 

THERE is a Rumor, as if some designed to have a Play 
acted in the Council-Chamber, next Monday ; which 
much surprises me : And as much as in me lyes, I do for- 
bid it. The Romans were very fond of their Plays : but 
I never heard they were so far set upon them, as to turn 
their Senat-House into a Play-House. Our Town-House 
was built at great Cost & Charge, for the sake of very seri- 
ous and important Business ; the Three Chambers above, 
& the Exchange below ; Business of the Province, County, 
& Town. Let it not be abused with Dances or other 
Scenical divertisements. It cahot be a Honor to the 
Queen, to have the Laws of Honesty and Sobriety broken 
in upon. Ovid himself offers invincible Argument against 
publick Plays: 

Ut tamen hoc fatear ; Ludi qMoq\ji\ e semina prcebent 
NequiticE : 

Let not Christian Boston goe beyond Heathen Rome in 
the practice of shamefull Vanities. 

This is the Voice of your most humble & obedient 
Servant, Samuel Sewall, 



260 



News at Last 

James Warren relies on Providence and the people ^^v 
(To his wife from Concord, April 6^ ^11 S) 

MY DEAR MERCY, — Four days ago I had full Con- 
fidence that I should have had the pleasure of being 
with you this day, we were then near closeing the Session. 
Last Saturday we came near to an Adjournment, were 
almost equally divided on that question, the principle argu- 
ment that seem^ to preponderate, & turn in favour of set- 
ting into this week was the prospect of News & News we 
have, last week things wore rather a favourable aspect, but 
alas how uncertain are our prospects. Sunday evening 
brought us Accounts of a Vessel at Marblehead from Fal- 
mouth, & the English Papers &c by her. I have no need 
to recite particulars you will have the whole in the Papers, 
& wont wonder at my forgoeing the pleasure of being with 
you. I dare say you would not desire to see me till I could 
tell you that I had done all in my power to secure & defend 
us & our Country. We are no longer at a loss what is In- 
tended us by our dear Mother. We have ask^ for Bread 
and she gives us a Stone, & a serpent for a Fish, however 
my Spirits are by no means depress^, you well know my 
Sentiments of the Force of both Countrys, you know my 
opinion of the Justness of our Cause, you know my Confi- 
dence in a Righteous Providence. I seem to want nothing 
to keep up my Spirits & to Inspire me with a proper reso- 
lution to Act my part well in this difficult time but seeing 
you in Spirits, & knowing that they flow from the heart, 
how shall I support myself if you suffer these Misfortunes 
to prey on your tender frame & add to my difficulties an 
affliction too great to bear of itself, the Vertuous should be 
happy under all Circumstances. This state of things will 
last but a little while. I believe we shall have many chear- 
ful rides together yet. we proposed last week a short ad- 

261 



The Friendly Craft 

journment & I had in a manner Engaged a Chamber here 
for my Beloved & pleased myself with the health &. pleas- 
ure the Journey was to give her, but I believe it must be 
postponed till some Event takes place & changes the face 
of things. All things wear a warlike appearance here. 
this Town is full of Cannon, ammunition stores &c &c & 
the army long for them & they want nothing but strength 
to Induce an attempt on them, the people are ready & de- 
termined to defend this Country Inch by Inch. The In- 
habitants of Boston begin to move, the Selectmen & 
Committee of Correspondence are to be with us. . . . but 
to dismiss publick matters let me ask how you do & how 
do my little Boys especially my little Henry who was Com- 
plaining. I long to see you. I long to set with you under 
our Vines &c & have none to make us afraid. ... I in- 
tend to fly Home I mean as soon as Prudence Duty & 
Honour will permitt. 



Apri'l 7th 



1 



^HE moving of the Inhabitants of Boston if Effected 



will be one Grand Move. I hope one thing will 
follow another till America shall appear Grand to all the 
world. I begin to think of the Trunks which may be 
ready against I come home, we perhaps may be forced to 
Move : if we are let us strive to submit to the dispensa- 
tions of Providence with Christian resignation & Phylo- 
sophick dignity. God has given you great abilities, you 
have improved them in great Acquirements. You are 
possess^ of Eminent Virtues & distinguished Piety, for 
all these I Esteem I Love you in a degree that I can't 
Express, they are all now to be called into action for the 
good of mankind for the good of your friends, for the pro- 
motion of virtue & patriotism, don't let the fluttering of 
your Heart Interrupt your Health or disturb your repose. 

262 



1 



War's Alarms 

believe me I am continually Anxious about you. ride 
when the weather is good & don't work or read too much 
at other times. I must bid you adieu. God Almighty 
Bless You no letter yet what can it mean, is she not well 
she can't forget me or have any objections to writing. . . . 

The news from Bunker Hill ^^;^ -^^ ^C:^ ^;^ ^;:>' 

I 
(James Warren to his wife) 

Watertown, /^;^^ i8, 1775 

MY DEAR MERCY, — The Extraordinary Nature of 
the Events which have taken place in the last 48 
Hours have Interrupted that steady & only Intercourse which 
the situation of pubHck affairs allows me. the Night before 
last our Troops possess^ themselves of a Hill in Charles- 
town & had time only to heave up an Imperfect Breast- 
work the regular Troops from the Batterys in Boston & 
two Men of War in the Ferryway began early next Morn- 
ing a Heavy Fire on them which was Continued till about 
Noon when they Landed a large Number of Troops & 
after a stout resistance & great Loss on their side dis- 
possessed our Men, who with the Accumulated disadvan- 
tages of being Exposed to the fire of their Cannon & the 
want of Ammunition & not being supported by fresh 
Troops were obliged to abandon the Town & retire to our 
Lines towards Cambridge to which they made a very 
handsome addition last Night, with a Savage Barbarity 
never practised among Civilized Nations they fired, & have 
utterly destroyed the Town of Charlestown. We have 
had this day at Dinner another alarm that they were Ad- 
vancing on our Lines, after having reinforced their Troops 
with their Horse &c & that they were out at Roxbury. 
We Expected this would have been an Important day. 

263 



The Friendly Craft 

they are reinforced but have not Advanced so things 
remain at present as they were. We have killed them 
many Men & have killed & wounded about an hundred 
by the best Accounts I can get, among the first of whom 
to our inexpressible Grief is My Friend Doct^" Warren who 
was kill^ it is supposed in the Lines on the Hill at 
Charlestown in a Manner more Glorious to himself than 
the fate of Wolf on the plains of Abraham. Many other 
officers are wounded & some kill^. it is Impossible to 
describe the Confusion in this place, Women & Children 
flying into the Country armed Men Going to the field & 
wounded Men returning from there fil the Streets. I 
shant attempt a description. Your Brother borrowed a 
Gun &c & went among the flying Bullets at Charlestown 
ret'^ last Evening lo o'clock, the Librarian got a slight 
wound with a musket Ball in his head. Rowland has 
this Minute come in with your Letter. The Continental 
Congress have done & are doing every thing we can wish 
D^ Church refi last Evening & Bro* resolutions for 
assuming Gov* & for supplying provisions & powder 
& he tells us tho under the rose that they are 
Contemplating & have perhaps finished the Estab- 
lishment of the Army & an Emission of money to 
pay & support them & he thinks the operations of 
yesterday will be more than sufficient to Induce 
them to recommend the Assumption of new forms of 
Gov* to all the Colonies. I wish I could be more perticu- 
lar. I am now on a Committee of Importance & only 
steal time to add sentences seperately. I feel for my 
Dear Wife least her apprehensions should hurt her health, 
be not concerned about me, take care of your self. 
You can secure a retreat & have proper Notice in Season, 
& if you are safe & the Boys I shall be happy fall what 
will to my Interest. I cant be willing you should come 

264 



The Decisive Day 

into this part of the Country at present. I will see you as 
soon as possible, cant say when, the mode of Gov* pre- 
scribed is according to the last Charter, some are quite 
satisfied with it you know I wish^ for a more perfect one. 
•it is now Monday Morning. I hear nothing yet but the 
roaring of Cannon below, but no Body regards them. I 
need not say that I long to see you, perhaps never more 
in my life. I shall try hard for it this week. I hope your 
strawberries are well taken care of & that you have fine 
feasting on them. Your Brother is waiting for Freeman 
who with all his patriotism has left us for lo days. I have 
letters from both M"" Adams & Cushing. I can't Inclose 
them, because I must answer them when I can get opp^ I 
am calld on & must Conclude with my wishes & prayer 
for yr Happiness with Love to my Boys & regards to 
Friends your afF Husband 

jAi Warren 

S. Adams is very unwell the jaundice to a great degree 
& his spirits somewhat depress^. Church hopes he will 
recover. I hope some of us will survive this Contest. . . . 

n 

(Abigail Adams to her husband) 

Sunday^ i^June, 177$ 

DEAREST FRIEND, 
The day, — perhaps, the decisive day, — is come, 
on which the fate of America depends. My bursting heart 
must find vent at my pen. I have just heard, that our 
dear friend, Dr. Warren, is no more, but fell gloriously 
fighting for his country ; saying, better to die honorably 
in the field, than ignominiously hang upon the gallows. 
Great is our loss. He has distinguished himself in every 
engagement, by his courage and fortitude, by animating 

265 



The Friendly Craft 



the soldiers, and leading them on by his own example. 
A particular account of those dreadful, but I hope glorious 
days will be transmitted you, no doubt, in the exactest 
manner. . . . 

Charlestown is laid in ashes. The battle began upon 
our intrenchments upon Bunker's Hill, Saturday morning 
about three o'clock, and has not ceased yet, and it is now 
three o'clock Sabbath afternoon. 

It is expected they will come out over the Neck to-night 
and a dreadful battle must ensue. Almighty God, cover 
the heads of our countrymen, and be a shield to our dear 
friends ! How many have fallen, we know not. The 
constant roar of the cannon is so distressing, that we can- 
not eat, drink, or sleep. May we be supported and 
sustained in the dreadful conflict. I shall tarry here till 
it is thought unsafe by my friends, and then I have se- 
cured myself a retreat at your brother's, who has kindly 
offered me part of his house. I cannot compose myself 
to write any further at present. I will add more as I hear 
further. . . . 

Mrs. Washington and Mrs. Warren take a morning 
drive ^^^ ^:> ^o ^c:> ^^^ ^"Qy ^c:y 

(From Mrs. James Warren) 

Watertown, April 17, 1776 

IF my Dear friend Required only a very Long Letter to 
make it agreeable I Could easily gratify her but I know 
there must be many more Requisites to make it pleasing to 
her taste, if you Measure by Lines I Can at once Comply, 
if by sentiment I fear I shall fall short, but as Curiosity 
seems to be awake with Regard to the Company I keep 
& the Manner of spending my time I will endeavour to 

266 



An Ideal Gentlewoman 

gratify you. I arrived at my Lodgings before Dinner the 
day I Left you, found an obliging family Convenient Room 
& in the Main an agreeable set of Lodgers. Next Morning 
I took a Ride to Cambridge and waited on M^^ Washing- 
ton at 1 1 o clock where I was Received with the politeness 
& Respect shown in a first interview among the well bred 
& with the Ease & Cordiality of friendship of a much 
Earlier date, if you wish to hear more of this Ladys Char- 
acter I will tell you I think the Complacency of her Man- 
ners speaks at once the Benevolence of her Heart & her 
affability Candor & Gentleness quallify her to soften the 
hours of private Life or to sweeten the Cares of the Hero 
& smooth the Rugged scenes of War. I did not dine with 
her though much urg'd but Engaged to spend the ensuing 
day at headquarters. She desired me to Name an early 
hour in the Morning when she would send her Chariot 
and Accompany me to see the Deserted Lines of the enemy 
and the Ruins of Charleston. A Melancholy sight the 
Last which Evinces the Barbaraty of the foe & leaves a 
Deep impression of the suffering of that unhappy town. 
M^ Custice is the only son of the Lady [I] Have Di- 
scribed, a sensible Modest agreeable young Man. His 
Lady a Daughter of Coll Calvert of Mariland, appears to 
be of an Engaging Disposition but of so Extremely Delicate 
a Constitution, that it Deprives her as well as her friends of 
part of the pleasure which I am persuaded would Result 
from her Conversation did she enjoy a greater Share of 
Health. She is pretty, genteel Easy & Agreeable, but a 
kind of Languor about her prevents her being so sociable 
as some Ladies, yet it is evident it is not owing to that 
want of Vivacity which renders youth agreeable, but to a 
want of health which a Little Clouds her spirits. . . . 



267 



The Friendly Craft 

Abigail Adams counsels separation ^^^ ^Qy ^::> ^c:^ 
(To her husband) 

Braintree, 12 November, 1775 
^HE intelligence you will receive before this reaches 



T 



you, will, I should think, make a plain path, 
though a dangerous one, for you. I could not join to-day, 
in the petitions of our worthy pastor, for a reconciliation 
between our no longer parent state, but tyrant state, and 
these colonies. Let us separate; they are unworthy to be 
our brethren. Let us renounce them ; and, instead of 
supplications as formerly, for their prosperity and happiness, 
let us beseech the Almighty to blast their counsels, and 
bring to nought all their devices. . . . 

Eight months later the colonies take action -<:> <:^ 
(John Adams to his wife, from Philadelphia) 

THE second day of July, 1776, will be the most 
memorable epocha in the history of America. 
I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding 
generations as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to 
be commemorated, as the day of deliverance, by solemn 
acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solem- 
nized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, 
guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations, from one end of 
this continent to the other, from this time forward, for- 
evermore. 

You will think me transported with enthusiasm, but I 
am not. I am well aware of the toil, and blood, and 
treasure, that it will cost us to maintain this Declaration, 
and support and defend these States. Yet, through all 
the gloom, I can see the rays of ravishing light and glory. 
I can see that the end is more than worth all the means. 

268 



Wearied Out 

And that posterity will triumph in that day's transaction, 
even although we should rue it, which I trust in God we 
shall not. . . . 



In the dark days of '77 John Adams loses his temper 
(To his wife) 
[Philadelphia,] Saturday Evening^ 26 Aprils ijjy 
HAVE been lately more remiss than usual in 



I 



writing to you. There has been a great dearth of 
news. Nothing from England, nothing from France, 
Spain or any other part of Europe, nothing from the West 
Indies, nothing from Howe and his banditti, nothing from 
General Washington. There are various conjectures that 
Lord Howe is dead, sick, or gone to England, as the 
proclamations run in the name of Will. Howe only, and 
nobody from New York can tell any thing of his lordship. 
I am wearied out with expectations that the Massachusetts 
troops would have arrived, ere now, at Head Quarters. 
Do our people intend to leave the continent in the lurch ? 
Do they mean to submit ? or what fatality attends them ? 
With the noblest prize in view that ever mortals contended 
for, and with the fairest prospect of obtaining it upon easy 
terms, the people of Massachusetts Bay are dead. Does 
our state intend to send only half, or a third of their 
quota? Do they wish to see another crippled, disastrous 
and disgraceful campaign, for want of an army? I am 
more sick and more ashamed of my own countrymen, than 
ever I was before. The spleen, the vapors, the dismals, 
the horrors seem to have seized our wdiole state. More 
wrath than terror has seized me. I am very mad. The 
gloomy cowardice of the times is intolerable in New 
England. Indeed I feel not a little out of humor from 

269 



'The Friendly Craft 

indisposition — of body. You know I cannot pass a 
spring, or fall without an ill turn, and I have had one these 
four or five weeks. A cold as usual. Warm weather and 
a little exercise with a little medicine, I suppose, will cure 
me, as usual. I am not confined, but mope about and 
drudge, as usual, like a galley slave. I am a fool, if ever 
there was one, to be such a slave. I wont be much longer. 
I will be more free in some world or other. Is it not in- 
tolerable, that the opening spring, which I should enjoy 
with my wife and children, upon my little farm, should 
pass away, and laugh at me for laboring, day after day, 
and month after month, in a conclave, where neither taste, 
nor fancy, nor reason, nor passion, nor appetite can be 
gratified ? 

Posterity ! you will never know how much it cost the 
present generation to preserve your freedom ! I hope you 
will make good use of it. If you do not, I shall repent in 
Heaven that I ever took half the pains to preserve it. . . . 

And the Tories are assured that the end is near -^n^ 

London, March 14, 1777 

DEAR JOHNNY, 
Don't be frightened at seeing a letter from an old 
lory friend, lest it should come under the inspection of 
your high and mighty committees, as I suppose will be the 
case in yowr free and independent state. I hereby declare 
I have never received a line from you since I left Cam- 
bridge, August 31, 1774, excepting one while I was at Bos- 
ton relative to two gowns which Molly H. stole from my 
wife, of which I desired you to make enquiry, and this is 
the first scrip I have attempted to you since the said date, 
so that you can't be charged with holding a correspondence 
with me. Thus much to prevent any mistakes which might 

270 



Tory Sarcasms 

expose you to the perils of tarring and feathering, Sims- 
bury mines, a gaol or a gallows. I presume it can give no 
offence to committees, congresses, parsons or generals, 
that I embrace a favourable, or rather a possible opportunity 
of advising you that I am yet in the land of the living, 
though very probably they may all be offended at the fact ; 
but to ease their gall-bladders a little, I assure you and 
them, I hope in God I shall not live to see the day when 
America shall become independent of Great Britain. I 
suppose by this time you have entered so thoroughly into 
their mad scheme, that it will afford you no pleasure to hear 
your quondam friends on this side the Atlantic are well. 
However, I will mortify you by assuring you they are all 
in good health and spirits, and government has liberally 
supplied the wants of all the tory refugees who needed its 
assistance; and none here entertain the penumbra of a 
doubt how the game will end. No more does pious, frank, 
single-eyed, conscientious Dr. Elliot, you will say. Aye, I 
have seen his letters and compared them with two or three 
conversations he had with me between Charlestown Ferry 
and the college, not long before my fiight. Well, duplicity 
may be justified on some principles for aught I know ; but 
I don't like it. I wish much to know how Judge Lee holds 
his health and spirits. Apropos. If you have plenty of 
paper money, and it will answer his purpose, I wish you 
would pay him £2f^ L. M. with interest from September 
1774, on my account, and present him and his lady my 
best wishes. I should like to take one peep at my house, 
but I suppose I should not know it again. Sic transit 
gloria nitmdi. I shan't break my heart about it. Every 
dog they say has his day, and I doubt not I shall have 
mine. Ah, my old friend, could you form a just idea of 
the immense wealth and power of the British nation, you 
would tremble at the foolish audacity of your pigmy states. 

271 



The Friendly Craft 

Another summer will bring you all over to my opinion. 
I feel for the miseries hastening on my countrymen, but 
they must thank their own folly. God bless and carry you 
safe through. Your's 

Jonathan W. Sewall 
John Foxcroft, Esq. 

The first President moves reluctantly to the chair of 
government ^^:> -^ri^ ^:> ^^:^ ^^ ^:^::> 

(To Henry Knox) 

Mount Vernon, i Aprils 1789 

DEAR SIR, 
The mail of the 30th brought me your favor of the 
23d, by which, and the regular information you have had 
the goodness to transmit to me of the state of things in 
New York, I am very much obliged, and thank you 
accordingly. 

I feel for those members of the new Congress, who 
hitherto have given an unavailing attendance at the theatre 
of action. For myself the delay may be compared to a 
reprieve ; for in confidence I tell you, (with the world it 
would obtain little credit,) that my movements to the 
chair of government will be accompanied by feelings not 
unlike those of a culprit, who is going to the place of his 
execution ; so unwilling am I, in the evening of a life 
nearly consumed in public cares, to quit a peaceful abode 
for an ocean of difficulties, without that competency of 
political skill, abilities, and inclination, which are neces- 
sary to manage the helm. I am sensible that I am em- 
barking the voice of the people, and a good name of my 
own, on this voyage ; but what returns will be made for 
them, Heaven alone can foretell. Integrity and firmness 
are all I can promise. These, be the voyage long or 

272 



The Folly of War 

short, shall never forsake me, although I may be deserted 
by all men ; for of the consolations, which are to be 
derived from these, under any circumstances, the world 
cannot deprive me. . . . 

At the close of the Revolution Benjamin Franklin ad- 
vocates arbitration ^:> ^> '^:^ ^^ ^:> 

(To Mrs. Hewson, from Passy,/<a:;^o 27, 1783) 



A' 



T length we are in peace, God be praised, and 
long, very long may it continue. All wars are 
follies, very expensive, and very mischievous ones. When 
will mankind be convinced of this, and agree to settle their 
differences by arbitration ? Were they to do it, even by 
the cast of a die, it would be better than by fighting and 
destroying each other. . . . 

Benjamin Franklin prefers the turkey to the eagle as 
the emblem of the country -^^r:^ ^^:> ^:> ^s:> 

(To his daughter, from Vz.ss>y,Jan. 26, 1784) 

. . . TTOR my own part, I wish that the bald eagle had 
-^ not been chosen as the representative of our 
country ; he is a bird of bad moral character ; he does not 
get his living honestly. . . . With all this injustice he is 
never in good case ; but, like those among men who live 
by sharping and robbing, he is generally poor, and often 
very lousy. Besides he is a rank coward ; the little king- 
bird, not bigger than a sparrow, attacks him boldly and 
drives him out of the district. . . . 

I am, on this account, not displeased that the figure is 
not known as a bald eagle, but looks more like a turkey. 
For, in truth, the turkey is in comparison a much more 

T 273 



The Friendly Craft 

respectable bird, and withal a true original native of 
America. Eagles have been found in all countries, but the 
turkey was pecuHar to ours. ... He is, besides, (though 
a little vain and silly, it is true, but not the worse emblem 
for that.) a bird of courage, and would not hesitate to 
attack a grenadier of the British guards, who should 
presume to invade his farm-yard with a red coat on. . . . 

Three letters to his daughter from Aaron Burr in prison 

I 

[Richmond,] June 30, 1807 

|F myself you could expect to hear nothing new ; 
yet something new and unexpected was moved 
yesterday. The counsel for the prosecution proposed to 
the court that Aaron Burr should be sent to the peniten- 
tiary for safe keeping, and stated that the governor and 
council had offered to provide me with an apartment in 
the third story of that building. This is extremely kind 
and obliging in the governor and his council. The dis- 
tance, however, would render it so inconvenient to my 
counsel to visit me, that I should prefer to remain where 
I am ; yet the rooms proposed are said to be airy and 
healthy. ... 



o 



M 



II 

July 6^ 1807 

Y friends and acquaintance of both sexes are 
permitted to visit me without interruption, 
without inquiring their business, and without the presence 
of a spy. It is well that I have an antechamber, or I 
should often be gene with visiters. 

274 



Incapable of Humiliation 

If you come I can give you a bedroom and parlour on 
this floor. The bedroom has three large closets, and it is 
a much more commodious one than you ever had in your 
life. Remember, no agitations, no complaints, no fears 
or anxieties on the road, or I renounce thee. . . . 



I 



III 

July 24, 1807 

WANT an independent and discerning witness 
to my conduct and to that of the government. 
The scenes which have passed and those about to be 
transacted will exceed all reasonable credibility, and will 
hereafter be deemed fables, unless attested by very high 
authority. 

I repeat what has heretofore been written, that I should 
never invite any one, much less those so dear to me, to 
witness my disgrace. I may be immured in dungeons, 
chained, murdered in legal form, but I cannot be humili- 
ated or disgraced. If absent, you will suffer great solici- 
tude. In my presence you will feel none, whatever may 
be the malice or the power of my enemies, and in both 
they abound. . . . 

Mrs. Madison saves the portrait of Washington -v^ 

(To Mrs. Cutts) 

Tuesday^ August 23, 18 14 

DEAR SISTER, — My husband left me yesterday 
morning to join General Winder. He inquired 
anxiously whether I had courage or firmness to remain in 
the President's house until his return on the morrow, or 
succeeding day, and on my assurance that I had no fear 
but for him, and the success of our army, he left, beseech- 
ing me to take care of myself, and of the Cabinet papers, 

275 



The Friendly Craft 

public and private. I have since received two dispatches 
from him, written in pencil. The last is alarming, because 
he desires I should be ready at a moment's warning to 
enter my carriage, and leave the city ; that the enemy 
seemed stronger than had at first been reported, and it 
might happen that they would reach the city with the in- 
tention of destroying it. I am accordingly ready ; I have 
pressed as many Cabinet papers into trunks as to fill one 
carriage ; our private property must be sacrificed, as it is 
impossible to procure wagons for its transportation. I am 
determined not to go myself until I see Mr. Madison safe, 
so that he can accompany me, as I hear of much hostiHty 
towards him. Disaffection stalks around us. My friends 
and acquaintances are all gone, even Colonel C. with his 
hundred, who were stationed as a guard in this inclosure. 
French John (a faithful servant), with his usual activity 
and resolution, offers to spike the cannon at the gate, and 
lay a train of powder, which would blow up the British, 
should they enter the house. To the last proposition I 
positive}y object, without being able to make him under° 
stand why all advantages in war may not be taken. 

Wednesday i7i07'ningy twelve o'clock. — Since sunrise I 
have been turning my spy-glass in every direction, and 
watching with unwearied anxiety, hoping to discover the 
approach of my dear husband and his friends; but, alas! 
I can descry only groups of military, wandering in all 
directions, as if there was a lack of arms, or of spirit to 
fight for their own fireside. 

Three o'clock. — Will you believe it, my sister? We 
have had a battle, or skirmish, near Bladensburg, and here 
I am still, within sound of the cannon! Mr. Madison 
comes not. May God protect us! Two messengers, 
covered with dust, come to bid me fly ; but here I mean 
to wait for him. ... At this late hour a wagon has been 

276 



Great Events 

procured, and I have had it filled with plate and the most 
valuable portable articles, belonging to the house. 
Whether it will reach its destination, the " Bank of 
Maryland," or fall into the hands of our British soldiery, 
events must determine. Our kind friend, Mr. Carroll, 
has come to hasten my departure, and in a very bad humor 
with me, because I insist on waiting until the large picture 
of George Washington is secured, and it requires to be 
unscrewed from the wall. This process was found too 
tedious for these perilous moments ; I have ordered the 
frame to be broken, and the canvas taken out. It is done ! 
and the precious portrait placed in the hands of two 
gentlemen of New York, for safe keeping. And now, 
dear sister, I must leave this house or the retreating army 
will make me a prisoner in it by filling up the road I am 
directed to take. When I shall again write to you, or 
where I shall be to-morrow, I cannot tell! 

Dolly 

Mrs. Jackson witnesses the occupation of Pensacola, 
and laments the godlessness of the Spanish -^zi^ 

Pensacola, i^^Julyj 1821 

MY DEAR FRIEND: I have been in this place four 
weeks. The reason I have denied myself the pleas- 
ure of writing you is that I was waiting for the great events 
which have taken place in this our day. O that I had the 
pen of a ready writer that I might give you the correct detail 
of the great transaction, but it is as follows. We having a 
house prepared and furnished, the General advised me to 
move down and remain until he could with propriety march 
in with the fourth regiment. 

Three weeks the transports were bringing the Spanish 
troops from St. Mark's in order that they should all sail to 

277 



The Friendly Craft 



Cuba at the same time. At length they arrived, but during 
all this time the Governor of this place and the General 
had daily communications, yet his lordship never waited 
on the General in person. After the vessels returned from 
St. Mark's, the General came within two miles of Pensacola. 
They were then one week finishing the preliminaries and 
ceremonies to be observed on the day of his entrance into 
the city. At length, last Tuesday was the day. At seven 
o'clock, at the precise moment, they hove in view under the 
American flag and a full band of music. The whole town 
was in motion. Never did I see so many pale faces. I am 
living on Main street, which gave me an opportunity of see- 
ing a great deal from the upper galleries. They marched 
by to the government house, where the two Generals met 
in the manner prescribed, then his Catholic majesty's flag 
was lowered, and the American hoisted high in air, not less 
than one hundred feet. 

O how they burst into tears to see the last ray of hope 
departed of their devoted city and country — delivering up 
the keys of the archives, the vessels lying at anchor, in full 
view, to waft them to their distant port. Next morning 
they set sail under convoy of the Hornet, sloop of war, 
Anne Maria, and the Tom Shields. How did the city sit 
solitary and mourn. Never did my heart feel more for any 
people. Being present, I entered immediately into their 
feelings. Their manners, laws, customs, all changed, and 
really a change was necessary. My pen almost drops from 
my hand, the effort is so far short, so limited to what it 
might be. 

Three Sabbaths I spent in this house before the country 
was in possession under American government. In all 
that time I was not an idle spectator. The Sabbath pro- 
fanely kept ; a great deal of noise and swearing in the 
streets ; shops kept open ; trade going on, I think, more 

278 



The Redoubtable General 

than on any other day. They were so boisterous on that 
day I sent Major Stanton to say to them that the approach- 
ing Sunday would be differently kept. And must I say the 
worst people here are the cast-out Americans and negroes ! 
Yesterday I had the happiness of witnessing the truth of 
what I had said. Great order was observed ; the doors 
kept shut ; the gambling houses demolished ; fiddhng and 
dancing not heard any more on the Lord's day ; cursing 
not to be heard. 

What, what has been done in one week ! A province 
delivered to the American people ; the laws of the land we 
-ive in they are now under. 

You can't conceive what an important, arduous, labori- 
ous work it has been and is. I had no idea of it until 
daily it unfolded the mystery to view. I am convinced 
that no mortal man could do this and suffer so many pri- 
vations, unless the God of our salvation was his help in 
every time of trouble. While the General was in camp, 
fourteen miles from Pensacola, he was very sick. I went 
to see him, and to try to persuade him to come to his 
house. But, no. All his friends tried. He said that 
when he came in it should be under his own standard, and 
that would be the third time he had planted that flag on 
that wall. And he has done so. O how solemn was his 
pale countenence when he dismounted from his horse. 
Recollections of perils and scenes of war not to be dis- 
severed presented themselves to view. 

There are no shouts of joy or exultation heard ; but, on 
the contrary, we sympathized with this people. Still, I 
think, the Lord had a controversy with them. They were 
living far from God. If they would have the gospel of 
Jesus aind his apostles, it would have been otherwise, but 
they would not. The field is white for harvest, but where 
are the laborers? Not one. Oh, for one of our faithful 

279 



The Friendly Craft 

ministers to come and impart the word of life to them. I 
have heard but one gospel sermon since we left home. 
But I know that my Redeemer liveth. He is my shield. 
I shall not want. He will not leave me nor forsake me in 
all my trials through this wilderness. Oh, pray for me ; I 
have need of that aid from my dear Christian friends. 

. . . The inhabitants all speak Spanish and French. 
Some speak four or five languages. Such a mixed mul- 
titude, you, nor any of us, ever had an idea of. There are 
fewer white people far than any other, mixed with all 
nations under the canopy of heaven, almost in nature's 
darkness. But, thanks to the Lord that has put grace in 
this his servant to issue his proclamation in a language they 
all understand, I think the sanctuary is about to be purged 
for a minister of the gospel to come over to the help of the 
Lord in this dark region. 

There is a Catholic church in the place, and the priest 
seems a divine looking man. He comes to see us. He 
dined with us yesterday, the Governor, and Secretary, 
French, Spanish, American ladies, and all. I have as 
pleasant a house as any in town. 

. . . My dear husband is, I think, not any the better as 
to his health. He has indeed performed a great work in 
his day. Had I heard by the hearing of the ear I could 
not have believed. 

Have we all gone from you so far that no intelligence 
can reach our place of destination? There is no mail, 
no post-office here. All these inconveniences will be 
remedied shortly. Miss Grage received a letter from Mrs. 
Berryhill, wherein she states the illness of Mr. Campbell 
and several others in Nashville, but some pleasing news of 
the church. Oh, for Zion! I am not at rest, nor can I 
be, in a heathen land. . . . How happy and thankful 
should you be in a land of gospel light and liberty. 

280 



Meeting on the Stairs 

Oh, rejoice and be glad, far more it is to be desired than 
all the honor and riches in this vain world. Farewell, my 
dear friend, and should the great Arbiter of fate order his 
servant not to see her kindred and friends again, I hope 
to meet you in the realms of everlasting bliss. Then I 
shall weep no more at parting. 

Do not be uneasy for me. " Although the vine yield no 
fruit, and the olive no oil, yet will I serve the Lord.*" 

Adieu, adieu, 

Rachel Jackson 

Mrs. Elizabeth Kingsley 

Say to Mr. K. Andrew is learning Spanish. 

She finds Washington not much more pious '<c^ ^v> 

(To Mrs. Kingsley, Dec. 23, 1824) 

^HE present moment is the first I can call my 
own since my arrival in this great city. Our 
journey [from Nashville, Tenn.], indeed, was fatiguing. 
We were twenty-seven days on the road, but no accident 
happened to us. My dear husband is in better health 
than when we came. We are boarding in the same house 
with the nation's guest, Lafayette. I am delighted with 
him. All the attentions, all the parties he goes to, never 
appear to have any effect on him. In fact, he is an extra- 
ordinary man. He has a happy talent of knowing those 
he has once seen. For instance, when we first came to 
this house, the General said he would go and pay the 
Marquis the first visit. Both having the same desire, and 
at the same time, they met on the entry of the stairs. It 
was truly interesting. The emotion of revolutionary 
feeling was aroused in them both. At Charleston, General 
Jackson saw him on the field of battle ; the one a boy 
of twelve, the Marquis, twenty-three. He wears a wig, 

281 



T' 



The Friendly Craft 

and is a little inclined to corpulency. He is very healthy, 
eats hearty, goes to every party, and that is every night. 

To tell you of this city, I would not do justice to the 
subject. The extravagance is in dressing and running to 
parties ; but I must say they regard the Sabbath, and 
attend preaching, for there are churches of every denomi- 
nation and able ministers of the gospel. We have been 
here two Sabbaths. The General and myself were both 
days at church. Mr. Baker is the pastor of the church we 
go to. He is a fine man, a plain, good preacher. W^ 
were waited on by two of Mr. Balche's elders, inviting us 
to take a pew in his church in Georgetown, but previous 
to that I had an invitation to the other. General Cole, 
Mary, Emily, and Andrew went to the Episcopal church. 

Oh, my dear friend, how shall I get through this bustle. 
There are not less than from fifty to one hundred persons 
calling in a day. My dear husband was unwell nearly the 
whole of our journey, but, thanks to our Heavenly Father, 
his health is improving. Still his appetite is delicate, and 
company and business are oppressive ; but I look unto the 
Lord, from whence comes all my comforts. I have the 
precious promise, and I know that my Redeemer liveth. 

Don't be afraid of my giving way to those vain things. 
The apostle says, I can do all things in Christ, who 
strengtheneth me. The play-actors sent me a letter, 
requesting my countenance to them. No. A ticket to 
balls and parties. No, not one. Two dinings ; several 
times to drink tea. Indeed, Mr. Jackson encourages 
me in my course. He recommends it to me to be stead- 
fast. I am going to-day to hear Mr. Summerfield. He 
preaches in the Methodist church ; a very highly spoken 
of minister. Glory to God for the privilege. Not a day 
or night but there is the church opened for prayer. . . . 



282 



A Majestic Spectacle 

Mrs. Samuel Harrison Smith describes Andrew Jack- 
son's inauguration, with varying opinions as to 
the majesty of the people '<;::y ^^::> ^:::>' ^:> 

(To Mrs. Kirkpatrick) 

[Washington^ March nth, Sunday [1829] 

, . . 'T^HURSDAY morning. I left the rest of this 
-L sheet for an account of the inauguration. It 
was not a thing of detail of a succession of small inci- 
dents. No, it was one grand whole, an imposing and 
majestic spectacle and to a reflective mind one of moral 
sublimity. Thousands and thousands of people, without 
distinction of rank, collected in an immense mass round 
the Capitol, silent, orderly and tranquil, with their eyes 
fixed on the front of that edifice, waiting the appearance 
of the President in the portico. The door from the 
Rotunda opens, preceded by the marshals, surrounded by 
the Judges of the Supreme Court, the old man with his 
grey locks, that crown of glory, advances, bows to the 
people, who greet him with a shout that rends the air, 
the Canons, from the heights round, from Alexandria and 
Fort Warburton proclaim the oath he has taken and all 
the hills reverberate the sound. It was grand, — it was 
sublime! An almost breathless silence succeeded, and 
the multitude was still, — listening to catch the sound of 
his voice, tho' it was so low, as to be heard only by those 
nearest to him. After reading his speech, the oath was 
administered to him by the Chief Justice. The Marshal 
presented the Bible. The President took it from his 
hands, pressed his lips to it, laid it reverently down, then 
bowed again to the people — Yes, to the people in all their 
majesty. And had the spectacle closed here, even Euro- 
peans must have acknowledged that a free people, collected 

283 



The Friendly Craft 

in their might, silent and tranquil, restrained solely by a 
moral power, without a shadow around of military force, 
was majesty, rising to sublimity, and far surpassing the 
majesty of Kings and Princes, surrounded with armies and 
glittering in gold. But I will not anticipate, but will give 
you an account of the inauguration in mere detail. . . . 

A national salute was fired early in the morning, and 
ushered in the 4th of March. By ten o^clock the Avenue 
was crowded with carriages of every description, from the 
splendid Barronet and coach, down to waggons and carts, 
filled with women and children, some in finery and some 
in rags, for it was the peoples President, and all would see 
him. . . . 

• We stood on the South steps of the terrace ; when the 
appointed hour came saw the General and his company 
advancing up the Avenue, slow, very slow, so impeded was 
his march by the crowds thronging around him. Even 
from a distance, he could be discerned from those who 
accompanied him, for he only was uncovered, (the Servant 
in presence of his Sovereign, the People). The south 
side of the Capitol hill was literally alive with the multi- 
tude, who stood ready to receive the hero and the multitude 
who attended him. " There, there, that is he," exclaimed 
different voices. " Which ? " asked others. " He with the 
white head," was the reply. "Ah," exclaimed others, 
" there is the old man and his gray hair, there is the old 
veteran, there is Jackson." At last he enters the gate at 
the foot of the hill and turns to the road that leads round 
to the front of the Capitol. In a moment every one who 
until then had stood like statues gazing on the scene below 
them, rushed onward, to right, to left, to be ready to receive 
him in front. Our party, of course, were more deliberate, 
we waited until the multitude had rushed past us and then 
left the terrace and walked round to the furthest side of 

284 



Beautiful and Sublime 

the square, where there were no carriages to impede us, 
and entered it by the gate fronting the Capitol. Here was 
a clear space, and stationing ourselves on the central gravel 
walk we stood so as to have a clear, full view of the whole 
scene. The Capitol in all its grandeur and beauty. The 
Portico and grand steps leading to it were filled with 
ladies. Scarlet, purple, blue, yellow, white draperies and 
waving plumes of every kind and colour, among the white 
marble pillars, had a fine effect. In the centre of the por- 
tico was a table covered with scarlet, behind it the closed 
door leading into the rotunda, below the Capitol and all 
around, a mass of living beings, not a ragged mob, but 
well dressed and well behaved respectable and worthy 
citizens. Mr. Frank Key, whose arm I had, and an old 
and frequent witness of great spectacles, often exclaimed, 
as well as myself, a mere novice, "It is beautiful, it is sub- 
lime ! " The sun had been obscured through the morning 
by a mist, or haziness. But the concussion in the air, 
produced by the discharge of the canon, dispersed it and 
the sun shone forth in all his brightness. At the moment 
the General entered the Portico and advanced to the 
table, the shout that rent the air, still resounds in my ears. 
When the speech was over, and the President made his 
parting bow, the barrier that had separated the people from 
him was broken dow^n and they rushed up the steps all 
eager to shake hands with him. It was with difficulty he 
made his way through the Capitol and down the hill to the 
gateway that opens on the avenue. Here for a moment he 
was stopped. The living mass was impenetrable. After 
a while a passage was opened, and he mounted his horse 
which had been provided for his return (for he had 
walked to the Capitol) then such a cortege as followed 
him ! Country men, farmers, gentlemen, mounted and 
dismounted, boys, women and children, black and white. 

285 



The Friendly Craft 

Carriages, wagons and carts all pursuing him to the Presi- 
dent's house, — this I only heard of for our party went out 
at the opposite side of the square and went to Col. Ben- 
ton's lodgings, to visit Mrs. Benton and Mrs. Gilmore. 
. . . Some one came and informed us the crowd before 
the President's house was so far lessen'd, that they thought 
we might enter. This time we effected our purpose. But 
what a scene did we witness ! The Majesty of the People 
had disappeared, and a rabble, a mob, of boys, negroes, 
women, children, scrambling fighting, romping. What a 
pity what a pity! No arrangements had been made no 
poHce officers placed on duty and the whole house had 
been inundated by the rabble mob. We came too late. 
The President, after having been literally nearly pressed 
to death and almost suffocated and torn to pieces by the 
people in their eagerness to shake hands with Old Hickory, 
had retreated through the back way or south front and had 
escaped to his lodgings at Gadsby's. Cut glass and china 
to the amount of several thousand dollars had been broken 
in the struggle to get the refreshments, punch and other 
articles had been carried out in tubs and buckets, but had 
it been in hogsheads it would have been insufficient, ice- 
cream and cake and lemonade, for 20,000 people, for it is 
said that number were there, tho^ I think the estimate 
exaggerated. Ladies fainted, men were seen with bloody 
noses and such a scene of confusion took place as is impos- 
sible to describe, — those who got in could not get out by 
the door again, but had to scramble out of windows. At 
one time, the President who had retreated and retreated 
until he was pressed against the wall, could only be secured 
by a number of gentlemen forming round him and making 
a kind of barrier of their own bodies, and the pressure was 
so great that Col Bomford who was one said that at one 
time he was afraid they should have been pushed down, or 

286 



The Rule of the People 

on the President. It was then the windows were thrown 
open, and the torrent found an outlet, which otherwise 
might have proved fatal. 

This concourse had not been anticipated and therefore 
not provided against. Ladies and gentleman, only had 
been expected at this Levee, not the people en masse. 
But it was the People's day, and the People's President 
and the People would rule. God grant that one day or 
other, the People do not put down all rule and rulers. . . . 

Thumb-nail sketches of the Abolitionists ^^^ ^;:^ 

(Miss Sallie Holley to the Misses Porter) 

Boston, Jan. 31, 1861 

. . . 'T^HESE dreadful times of mobs are thought to be 
-L the last struggle of the slave-power in the North, 
and it remains for time to prove whether such a precious 
life as that of Wendell Phillips is to be given up to satisfy 
the millions of slavery. God grant that such a costly sac- 
rifice may be spared. I wish that you could have been with 
us on that sublime occasion when the hosts of abolition- 
ists sat looking danger and violence in the face as serenely 
as if the light of Eternity's morning had dawned on their 
souls. I think it was worth living a great many years to be 
present at the meeting in Tremont Temple last Thursday 
morning. I may never live to witness another day so great 
as that was in courage, devotion, and fidelity to principle. 
The platform was crowded with the faithful and true — 
many a tried soldier in Freedom's long battle : Francis 
Jackson to preside, Edmund Quincy to aid ; Mr. Phillips, 
like a conquering angel, with wit and wisdom on his 
tongue, and beauty and honour on his head ; James Free- 
man Clarke, glorious in speech and action ; Ralph Waldo 

287 



The Friendly Craft 

Emerson, serene as the sphinx of six thousand years ago ; 
Samuel J. May, reading the Ninety-fourth Psalm, that 
seemed to come from the prophet's pen of to-day ; Mrs. 
Lydia Maria Child, as full of enthusiasm as she could ex- 
press by flashing eye, glowing cheek, and waving hand- 
kerchief, as she sat by the organ on the highest seat of 
the platform, making everybody glad by her presence ; 
Mrs. Maria Chapman, sitting with the calm dignity of a 
queen, her sister and daughter beside her ; T. W. Higgin- 
son, ready with brilliant eloquence of tongue or with the 
revolver's bullet — so it was said — to do batde for free 
speech that day ; William I. Bowditch, with his venerable 
and dignified mien, looked quite distinguished among them 
all. Once when he took his place at the front of the plat- 
form, the mob called out, "There comes the old bald 
eagle!" and well may the little insignificant mice & 
weasles look out when such a glance is abroad. . . . 

Colonel Lee resigns from the United States Army ^^^ 

I 
(To General Winfield Scott) 

Arlington, Virginia, April 20^ 1861 

GENERAL: Since my interview with you on the i8th 
inst. I have felt that I ought no longer to retain my 
commission in the Army. I therefore tender my resigna- 
tion, which I request you will recommend for acceptance. 
It would have been presented at once but for the struggle 
it has f ost me to separate myself from a service to which I 
have devoted the best years of my life, and all the ability 
I possessed. 

During the whole of that time — more than a quarter of 
a century — I have experienced nothing but kindness from 

288 



The State First 

my superiors and a most cordial friendship from my com- 
rades. To no one, General, have I been as much indebted 
as to yourself for uniform kindness and consideration, and 
it has always been my ardent desire to merit your appro- 
bation. I shall carry to the grave the most grateful recol- 
lections of your kind consideration, and your name and 
fame shall always be dear to me. 

Save in the defense of my native State, I never desire 
again to draw my sword. 

Be pleased to accept my most earnest wishes for the 
continuance of your happiness and prosperity, and believe 
me most truly yours, 

R. E. Lee 
II 

(To Mrs. Anne Marshall) 

Arlington, Virginia, April 20, 1861 

MY DEAR SISTER : I am grieved at my inabihty to 
see you. ... I have been waiting for a " more con- 
venient season," which has brought to many before me deep 
and lasting regret. Now we are in a state of war which will 
yield to nothing. The whole South is in a state of revolu- 
tion, into which Virginia, after a long struggle, has been 
drawn ; and though I recognize no necessity for this state 
of things, and would have forborne and pleaded to the end 
for redress of grievances, real or supposed, yet in my own 
person I had to meet the question whether I should take 
part against my native State. 

With all my devotion to the Union and the feeling of 
loyalty and duty of an American citizen, I have not been 
able to make up my mind to raise my hand against my 
relatives, my children, my home. I have therefore re- 
signed my commission in the Army, and save in defense of 
my native State, with the sincere hope that my poor ser- 
u 289 



The Friendly Craft 

vices may never be needed, I hope I may never be called on 
to draw my sword. I know you will blame me; but you 
must think as kindly of me as you can, and believe that I 
have endeavoured to do what I thought right. 

To show you the feeling and struggle it has cost me, I 
send you a copy of my letter of resignation, I have no time 
for more. May God guard and protect you and yours, and 
shower upon you everlasting blessings, is the prayer of your 
devoted brother, R. E. Lee 

Horace Greeley loses his nerve and writes to the 
President ^^ ^^ ^^^ ^:> ^::>' -^o 

New York, Monday^ July 29, 1861. Midnight 

DEAR SIR: This is my seventh sleepless night — 
yours, too, doubtless — yet I think I shall not die, 
because I have no right to die. I must struggle to live, 
however bitterly. But to business. You are not con- 
sidered a great man, and I am a hopelessly broken one. 
You are now undergoing a terrible ordeal, and God has 
thrown the gravest responsibilities upon you. Do not fear 
to meet them. Can the rebels be beaten after all that has 
occurred, and in view of the actual state of feeling caused 
by our late awful disaster? If they can — and it is your 
business to ascertain and decide — write me that such is 
your judgment, so that I may know and do my duty. And 
if they can not be beaten — if our recent disaster is fatal — 
do not fear to sacrifice yourself to your country. If the 
rebels are not to be beaten — if that is your judgment in 
view of all the light you can get — then every drop of blood 
henceforth shed in this quarrel will be wantonly, wickedly 
shed, and the guilt will rest heavily on the soul of every 
promoter of the crime. I pray you to decide quickly, and 
let me know my duty. 

290 



Black Despair 

If the Union is irrevocably gone, an armistice for thirty, 
sixty, ninety, one hundred and twenty days — better still 
for a year — ought at once to be proposed with a view to a 
peaceful adjustment. Then Congress should call a national 
convention, to meet at the earliest possible day. And there 
should be an immediate and mutual exchange or release of 
prisoners and a disbandment of forces. I do not consider 
myself at present a judge of anything but the public senti- 
ment. That seems to me everywhere gathering and 
deepening against a prosecution of the war. The gloom 
in this city is funereal — for our dead at Bull Run were 
many, and they lie unburied yet. On every brow sits sullen, 
scorching, black despair. It would be easy to have Mr. 
Crittenden move any proposition that ought to be adopted, 
or to have it come from any proper quarter. The first 
point is to ascertain what is best that can be done — which 
is the measure of our duty — and do that very thing at the 
earliest moment. 

This letter is written in the strictest confidence, and is 
for your eye alone. But you are at liberty to say to mem- 
bers of your Cabinet that you know I will second any 
movement you may see fit to make. But do nothing timidly 
nor by halves. Send me word what to do. I will live till 
I can hear it, at all events. If it is best for the country and 
mankind that we make peace with the rebels at once, and 
on their own terms, do not shrink even from that. But 
bear in mind the greatest truth : " Whoso would lose his 
life for my sake shall save it." Do the thing that is the 
highest right, and tell me how I am to second you. 
Yours, in the depth of bitterness, 

Horace Greeley 

Reprinted from Linn's *' Horace Greeley," Copyright, 1903, by D. Appleton 
&Co. 



291 



The Friendly Craft 

The paramount object — to save the Union ^^ ^;:> 
Executive Mansion, Washington, August 22, 1862 

HON. HORACE GREELEY. 
Dear Sir : I have just read yours of the 19th, ad- 
dressed to myself through the New York " Tribune." If 
there be in it any statements or assumptions of fact which 
I may know to be erroneous, I do not, now and here, 
controvert them. If there be in it any inferences which 
I may believe to be falsely drawn, I do not, now and here, 
argue against them. If there be perceptible in it an im- 
patient and dictatorial tone, I waive it in deference to an 
old friend whose heart I have always supposed to be 
right. 

As to the policy I " seem to be pursuing," as you say, 
I have not meant to leave any one in doubt. 

I would save the Union. I would save it the shortest 
way under the Constitution. The sooner the national 
authority can be restored, the nearer the Union will be 
" the Union as it was." If there be those who would not 
save the Union unless they could at the same time save 
slavery, I do not agree with them. If there be those who 
would not save the Union unless they could at the same 
time destroy slavery, I do not agree with them. My para- 
mount object in this struggle is to save the Union, and is 
not either to save or to destroy slavery. If I could save 
the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it ; and 
if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it ; 
and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others 
alone, I would also do that. What I do about slavery and 
the colored race, I do because I believe it helps to save 
the Union ; and what I forbear, I forbear because I do 
not believe it would help to save the Union. I shall do 
less whenever I shall beheve what I am doing hurts the 

292 



One Purpose 

cause, and I shall do more whenever I shall believe doing 
more will help the cause. I shall try to correct errors 
when shown to be errors, and I shall adopt new views so 
fast as they shall appear to be true views. 

I have here stated my purpose according to my view 
of official duty ; and I intend no modification of my oft- 
expressed personal wish that all men everywhere could 
be free. 

Yours, A. Lincoln 

A bread riot in the capital of the Confederacy ^^ 

(To Mrs. Roger A. Pryor, from Richmond, April A^^ 1863) 

MY DEAR : I hope you appreciate the fact that you 
are herewith honored with a letter written in royal- 
red ink upon sumptuous gilt-edged paper. There is not, 
at the present writing, one inch of paper for sale in the 
capital of the Confederacy, at all within the humble means 
of the wife of a Confederate officer. Well is it for her — 
and I hope for you — that her youthful admirers were 
few, and so her gorgeous cream-and-gold album was only 
half filled with tender effusions. Out come the blank 
leaves, to be divided between her friend and her Colonel. 
Don't be alarmed at the color of the writing. I have not 
yet dipped my goose-quill (there are no steel pens) in the 
'^ ruddy drops that visit my sad heart," nor yet into good 
orthodox red ink. There are fine oaks in the country, 
and that noble tree bears a gall-nut filled with crimson 
sap. One lies on my table, and into its sanguinary heart 
I plunge my pen. 

Something very sad has just happened in Richmond — 
something that makes me ashamed of all my jeremiads 
over the loss of the pretty comforts and conveniences of 
life — hats, bonnets, gowns, stationery, books, magazines, 

293 



The Friendly Craft 

dainty food. Since the weather has been so pleasant, I 
have been in the habit of walking in the Capitol Square 
before breakfast every morning. Somehow nothing so 
sets me up after a restless night as a glimpse of the dande- 
lions waking up from their dewy bed and the songs of the 
birds in the Park. Yesterday, upon arriving, I found 
within the gates a crowd of women and boys — several 
hundred of them, standing quietly together. I sat on a 
bench near, and one of the number left the rest and took 
the seat beside me. She was a pale, emaciated girl, not 
more than eighteen, with a sunbonnet on her head, and 
dressed in a clean calico gown. "I could stand no 
longer," she explained. As I made room for her, I ob- 
served that she had delicate features and large eyes. Her 
hair and dress were neat. As she raised her hand to re- 
move her sunbonnet and use it for a fan, her loose calico 
sleeve slipped up, and revealed the mere skeleton of an 
arm. She perceived my expression as I looked at it, and 
hastily pulled down her sleeve with a short laugh. " This 
is all that's left of me ! " she said. " It seems real funny, 
don't it ? " Evidently she had been a pretty girl — a dress- 
maker's apprentice, I judged from her chafed forefinger 
and a certain skill in the lines of her gown. I was en- 
couraged to ask : " What is it ? Is there some celebra- 
tion ? " 

" There is,'''' said the girl solemnly ; " we celebrate our 
right to live. We are starving. As soon as enough of 
us get together we are going to the bakeries and each 
of us will take a loaf of bread. That is little enough for 
the government to give us after it has taken all our men." 

Just then a fat old black Mammy waddled up the walk 
to overtake a beautiful child who was running before her, 
" Come dis a way, honey," she called, " don't go nigh dem 
people," adding, in a lower tone, " I's feared you'll ketch 

294 



" Suppress the Women " 

somethin' fum dem po^-white folks. I wojider dey lets 'em 
into de Park." 

The girl turned to me with a wan smile, and as she rose 
to join the long line that had now formed and was mov- 
ing, she said simply, " Good-by 1 Fm going to get some- 
thing to eat !^" 

" And I devoutly hope you'll get it — and plenty of 
it," I told her. The crowd now rapidly increased, and 
numbered, I am sure, more than a thousand women and 
children. It grew and grew until it reached the dignity of 
a mob — a bread riot. They impressed all the light carts 
they met, and marched along silently and in order. They 
marched through Gary Street and Main, visiting the stores 
of the speculators and emptying them of their contents. 
Governor Letcher sent the mayor to read the Riot Act, 
and as this had no effect he threatened to fire on the 
crowd. The city battalion then came up. The women 
fell back with frightened eyes, but did not obey the order 
to disperse. The President theft appeared, ascended a 
dray, and addressed them. It is said he was received at 
first with hisses from the boys, but after he had spoken 
some little time with great kindness and sympathy, the 
women quietly moved on, taking their food with them. 
General Elzey and General Winder wished to call troops 
from the camps to " suppress the women," but Mr. Sed- 
don, wise man, declined to issue the order. While I write 
women and children are still standing in the streets, de- 
manding food, and the government is issuing to them 
rations of rice. 

This is a frightful state of things. I am telling you 
of it because not one word has been said in the newspapers 
about it. All will be changed, Judge Campbell tells me, 
if we can win a battle or two (but, oh, at what a price !), 
and regain the control of our railroads. Your General has 

295 



The Friendly Craft 

been magnificent. He has fed Lee's army all winter — I 
wish he could feed our starving women and children. 

Dearly, 

Agnes 

President Lincoln acknowledges his error to General 
Grant ^;:> ^::> -^^i^ ^^:> ^^i^ ^^:> 
Executive Mansion, Washington, /?^/k 13, 1863 

MAJOR-GENERAL GRANT. 
My Dear General : I do not remember that you 
and I ever met personally. I write this now as a grateful 
acknowledgment for the almost inestimable service you 
have done the country. I wish to say a word further. 
When you first reached the vicinity of Vicksburg, I thought 
you should do what you finally did — march the troops 
across the neck, run the batteries with the transports, and 
thus go below ; and I never had any faith, except a gen- 
eral hope that you knew better than I, that the Yazoo Pass 
expedition and the like could succeed. When you got 
below and took Port Gibson, Grand Gulf, and vicinity, I 
thought you should go down the river and join General 
Banks, and when you turned northward, east of the Big 
Black, I feared it was a mistake. I now wish to make the 
personal acknowledgment that you were right and I was 
wrong. 

Yours very truly, 

A. Lincoln 

The evacuation of Richmond as a woman saw it --Qy 
(To Mrs. Roger A. Pryor) 

Richmond, April ^^ 1865 

MY DEAR : — I am not at all sure you will ever receive 
this letter, but I shall risk it. Firsts I join you in 
humble thanks to God for the great mercy accorded both 

296 



A Flag of Truce 

of us. Your General lives. My Colonel lives. What 
vi^ords can express our gratitude ? What is the loss of 
home and goods compared with the loss of our ov^n flesh 
and blood ? * Alas ! Alas ! for those who have lost all ! 

I am sure you will have heard the grewsome story of 
Richmond's evacuation. I was at St. Paul's Sunday, 
April I, when a note was handed to President Davis. He 
rose instantly, and walked down the aisle — his face set, 
so we could read nothing. Dr. Minnegerode gave notice 
that General Ewell desired the forces to assemble at 3 
P.M., and also that there would be no further service that 
day. I had seen no one speak to the doctor, and I wonder 
at the acuteness of his perception of the state of affairs. 
As soon as I reached the hotel I wrote a note to the 
proprietor, asking for news. He answered that grave 
tidings had come from Petersburg, and for himself he was 
by no means sure we could hold Richmond. He requested 
me to keep quiet and not encourage a tendency to excite- 
ment or panic. At first I thought I would read my services 
in the quiet of my little sky parlor at the Spotswood, but I 
was literally in a fever of anxiety. I descended to the 
parlor. Nobody was there except two or three children 
with their nurses. Later in the afternoon I walked out 
and met Mr. James Lyons. He said there was no use 
in further evading the truth. The lines were .broken at 
Petersburg and that town and Richmond would be sur- 
rendered late at night — he was going out himself with 
the mayor and Judge Meredith with a flag of truce and 
surrender the city. Trains were already fired to carry the 
archives and bank officials. The President and his Cabinet 
would probably leave at the same time. 

"And you, Judge ?" 

" I shall stand my ground. I have a sick family, and we 
must take our chances together." 

297 



The Friendly Craft 



" Then seriously — really and truly — Richmond is to be 
given up, after all, to the enemy." 

^* Nothing less ! And we are going to have a rough 
time, I imagine." 

I could not be satisfied until I had seen Judge Campbell, 
upon whom we so much relied for good, calm sense. I 
found him with his hands full of papers, which he waved 
deprecatingly as I entered. 

'' Just a minute, Judge ! I am alone at the Spotswood 
and" — 

" Stay there, my dear lady ! You will be perfectly safe. 
I advise all families to remain in their own houses. Keep 
quiet. I am glad to know the Colonel is safe. He may 
be with you soon now.*" 

With this advice I returned and mightily reassured and 
comforted the proprietor of the Spotswood. He immedi- 
ately caused notice to be issued to his guests. I resolved 
to convey my news to the families I knew best. The 
Pegrams were in such deep affliction there was no room 
there for anxious fears about such small matters as the 
evacuation of cities, but I could see my dear Mrs. Paul, 
and Mrs. Maben, and say a comforting word at the Allan 
home — closed to all the world since poor John fell at 
Gettysburg. Mrs. Davis was gone and out of harm's way. 
The Lees were sacred from intrusion. Four members of 
that household — the General, " Rooney," Custis, and 
Robert — were all at the post of danger. Late in the 
afternoon three hundred or more prisoners were marched 
down the street ; the negroes began to stand about, quietly 
observant but courteous, making no demonstration what- 
ever. The day, you remember, was one of those glorious 
days we have in April, and millions on millions of stars 
watched at night, looking down on the watchers below. 
I expected to sit by my window all night as you always do 

298 



A Morning of Horror 

in a troubled time, but sleep overtook me. I had slept, 
but not undressed, when a loud explosion shook the 
house — then another. There were crashing sounds of 
falling glass from the concussion. I found the sun had 
risen. All was commotion in the streets, and agitation in 
the hotel. The city government had dragged hogsheads 
of liquor from the shops, knocked in the heads, and 
poured the spirits into the gutters. They ran with brandy, 
whiskey, and rum, and men, women, and boys rushed out 
with buckets, pails, pitchers, and in the lower streets, hats 
and boots, to be filled. Before eight o'clock many public 
buildings were in flames, and a great conflagration was 
evidently imminent. The flames swept up Main Street, 
where the stores were quickly burned, and then roared 
down the side streets almost to Franklin. 

The doors of all the government bakeries were thrown 
open and food was given to all who asked it. Women 
and children walked in and helped themselves. At ten 
o'clock the enemy arrived, — ten thousand negro troops, 
going on and on, cheered by the negroes on the streets. 

So the morning passed — a morning of horror, of terror! 
Drunken men shouted and reeled through the streets, a 
black cloud from the burning city hung like a pall over us, 
a black sea of faces filled the street below, shells burst 
continuously in the ashes of the burning armory. About 
four in the afternoon a salute of thirty-four guns was fired. 
A company of mounted dragoons advanced up the street, 
escorting an open carriage drawn by four horses in which 
sat Mr. Lincoln and a naval officer, followed by an escort 
of cavalry. They drove straight to Mr. Davis's house, 
cheered all the way by negroes, and returned the way they 
came. I had a good look at Mr. Lincoln. He seemed 
tired and old — and I must say, with due respect to the 
President of the United States, I thought him the ugliest 

299 



The Friendly Craft 

man I had ever seen. He was fairly elected the first time, 
I acknowledge, — but was he the last ? A good many of 
the " free and equal ^' were not allowed a vote then. 

The next day I persuaded one of the lads in the hotel to 
take a walk with me early in the morning, and I passed 
General Lee's house. A Yankee guard was pacing to and 
fro before it — at which I felt an impulse of indignation, 
— but presently the door opened, the guard took his seat 
on the steps and proceeded to investigate the contents of 
a very neatly furnished tray, which Mrs. Lee in the kind- 
ness of her heart had sent out to him. 

I am obliged to acknowledge that there is really no hope 
now of our ultimate success. Everybody says so. My 
heart is too full for words. General Johnson says we may 
comfort ourselves by the fact that war may decide a policy^ 
but never a principle. I imagine our principle is all that 
remains to us of hope or comfort. • 

Devotedly, 

Agnes 

" My Captain lies, fallen cold and dead " -^^ ^> 

(From George William Curtis) 

^0-NIGHT in the misty spring moonlight, as I 
think of the man we all loved and honored, laid 
quietly to rest upon the prairie, I feel that I can not honor 
too much, or praise too highly, the people that he so truly 
represented, and which, like him, has been faithful to the 
end. So spotless he was, so patient, so tender, — it is a 
selfish, sad delight to me now, as when I looked upon his 
cofiin, that his patience had made me patient, and that I 
never doubted his heart, or head, or hand. At the only 
interview I ever had with him, he shook my hand pater- 
nally at parting, and said, *^ Don't be troubled. I guess 

300 



T 



Faithful to the End 

we shall get through.^' We have got through, at least the 
fighting, and still I cannot believe it. Here upon the mantel 
are the portraits of the three boys who went out of this 
room, my brother, Theodore Winthrop, and Robbie Shaw. 
They are all dead — the brave darlings — and now I put 
the head of the dear Chief among them, I feel that every 
drop of my blood and thought of my mind and affection 
of my heart is consecrated to securing the work made holy 
and forever imperative by so untold a sacrifice. May God 
keep us all as true as they were ! . . . 

In peace General Lee loses the burden of old sorrows 

(To his son) 
Lexington, Virginia, December 21, 1867 

MY DEAR FITZHUGH : . . . My visit to Peters- 
burg was extremely pleasant. Besides the pleasure 
of seeing my daughter and being with you, which was very 
great, I was gratified in seeing many friends. In addition, 
when our armies were in front of Petersburg I suffered so 
much in body and mind on account of the good towns- 
people, especially on that gloomy night when I was forced 
to abandon them, that I have always reverted to them in 
sadness and sorrow. My old feelings returned to me, as I 
passed well-remembered spots and recalled the ravages of 
the hostile shells. But when I saw the cheerfulness with 
which the people were working to restore their condition, 
and witnessed the comforts with which they were sur- 
rounded, a load of sorrow which had been pressing upon 
me for years was lifted from my heart. This is bad 
weather for completing your house, but it will soon pass 
away, and your sweet helpmate will make everything go 
smoothly. When the spring opens and the mocking- 

301 



The Friendly Craft 

birds resume their song you will have much to do. So 
you must prepare in time. . . . God bless you all is the 
prayer of Your devoted father, R. E. Lee 

" How swift the sudden flash of woe '* '<:::y ^o -^o 
(From Mrs. James G. Blaine) 

Washington, {^/uly 3,] 1881 

, , 'X/'OUR father got up quite early yesterday morn- 
JL ing, in order to drive the President to the 
station, and at 9.30 Tom, the boys, AHce, and I had 
breakfast. In the midst of it, the door-bell rang and Tom 
was called out. Then he called Walker ; but as the house 
is besieged all the time, we, who were so fortunate as to 
remain unsent for, paid no attention to the prolonged ab- 
sence of the absentees ; but shall I ever forget the moment 
when Maggie, nurse, came running into the room crying, 
" They have telephoned over to you, Mrs. Blaine, that the 
President is assassinated."" Emmons flew, for we all 
remembered, with one accord, that his father was with 
him. By the time I had reached the door, I saw that it 
must be true — everybody on the street, and wild. Mrs. 
Sherman got a carriage and drove over to the White 
House. Found the streets in front jammed and the doors 
closed, but they let us through and in. The President 
still at the station, so drove thitherward. Met the 
mounted police clearing the avenue, then the ambulance, 
turned and followed into that very gateway where, on the 
4th of March, we had watched him enter. I stood with 
Mrs. MacVeagh in the hall, when a dozen men bore him 
above their heads, stretched on a mattress, and as he saw 
us and held us with his eye, he kissed his hand to us — I 
thought I should die ; and when they brought him into his 
chamber and had laid him on his bed, he turned his eyes 

302 



Topsy-Turvy Paris 

to me, beckoned, and when I went to him, pulled me down, 
kissed me again and again, and said, '* Whatever happens, 
I want you to promise to look out for Crete," — the name 
he always gives his wife. ... ^^ Don^t leave me until 
Crete comes." I took my old bonnet off and just stayed. 
I never left him a moment. Whatever happened in the 
room, I never blenched, and the day will never pass from 
my memory. At six, or thereabouts, Mrs. Garfield came, 
frail, fatigued, desperate, but firm and quiet and full of 
purpose to save, and I think now there is a possibility of 
succeeding. . . . 

Charles Godfrey Leland on the jolly days of the Revo- 
lution of '48 ^:> -^^^ -^::> ^;> ^;^ -^^^^ 

(To Frank Fisher) 

Paris, April 2^ j 1848 

DEAR FRANK, — Accuse me of negligence in writing, 
if you will, but of all negligence with regard to at- 
tending to your affairs I am innocent. Otci, tres cher^ a7iiy 
et cousin. Everything in Paris has gone a tort et a travers 
from the affairs of Louis Filente or Louis Filon and the 
Government Provisoire down to mine and thine. The fall 
of the oak kills the squirrels, and the Revolution of 1848 
has played ''enfer'''' with our personal arrangements. I 
have already written a longish letter to you — it ^^went 
lost " and now I hit him again. Pve been in all sorts of 
adventures, and all sorts of luck since I saw you. I turned 
out in the Grande Revolution^ armed like a smuggler with 
dirk and pistols, saw some fusillades, helped build several 
barricades, — was capitaine at one nice little one in our 
Quartier, and distributed percussion caps and consolation 
to the heroic canaille, not to mention being at the plunder 
of the Tuileries — not that I plundered anything. It was 



The Friendly Craft 

great fun while it lasted — was that said same Revolution. 
Whack, hurrah, guns and drums, fusillades and barricades ! 
We dined under a Monarchy, supped under a Regency, 
went to sleep under a Provisional Government, and woke 
under a Republic — not to mention about two hours when 
we had just no Government at all. Well, ami cousin^ Fm 
coming home soon. The Boulevards look forlorn without 
trees — Dejazet is playing in "Mile, de Choisy" at the 
Varietes — a very pretty little comedy. We had a Review 
with nearly 350,000 soldiers the other day, and all Paris is 
overrun with penny papers, newsboys, and newswomen, 
who make such a row night and day that the city has be- 
come insufferable. Field is in England. As for me, I 
made a speech in German the other night to the audience 
at Bobino's little Theatre, at the top of my voice. It went 
down like Greek at Tammany Hall — nobody understood 
a word, the audience were completely mystified, but still 
very much delighted. Whenever a man who looks a little 
more respectable than common goes to Bobino% he is 
sure to be called out to by some student, — more oratori- 
cal than the rest, — and must either display his talent at 
repartee and slanging, or else sit still and be slanged. 
Well — /was the selected one the other night, and as I 
did not understand half the argot — though by this time I 
speak French decently enough — I gave it back to them in 
a regular stump speech in German — not caring to speak 
English and be called a " Goddem " and a " biftek." All 
of these things have come on since the Revolution — now 
the entire populace has become acquainted, nobody is 
gene: every night at all the theatres the entire audience 
sing the songs of the revolution and amuse themselves in 
a free and easy way which would do honour to the Bowery 
— so that even I — quiet and sober citizen — have been 
inspired with their enthusiasm. I really begin to think 

304 



Strange Contrasts 

of addressing the opera audience on the American Consti- 
tution — the price of provisions — electro-magnetism — and 
matters and things in general. You will find the report 
of the speech the next day after never in the columns of 
the " Constitutionnel " — Vive la bagatelle — don't shew 
this letter to any body. ... 

Washington Irving recalls Louis Napoleon and Eu- 
genie Montijo ^^:^ ^^:^ ^o ^:::y ^> '^:> 

(To Mrs. Storrow) 

SuNNYSiDE, March 28, 1853 

MY DEAR SARAH, 
A letter received from you while I was at Washing- 
ton, gave an account of the marriage procession of Louis 
Napoleon and his bride to the Church of Notre Dame, 
which you saw from a window near the Hotel de Ville. 
One of your recent letters, I am told, speaks of your having 
been presented to the Empress. I shall see it when I go 
to town. Louis Napoleon and Eugenie Montijo, Emperor 
and Empress of France ! — one of whom I have had a 
guest at my cottage on the Hudson ; the other, whom, 
when a child I have had on my knee at Granada ! It 
seems to cap the climax of the strange dramas of which 
Paris has been the theatre during my hfe time. 

I have repeatedly thought that each grand coup de 
theatre would be the last that would occur in my time ; 
but each has been succeeded by another equally striking, 
and what will be the next, who can conjecture? 

The last I saw of Eugenie Montijo, she was one of the 
reigning belles of Madrid ; and she and her giddy circle 
had swept away my charming young friend, the beautiful 
and accomplished , into their career of fashion- 
able dissipation. Now Eugenie is upon a throne, and 
X 305 



The Friendly Craft 

a voluntary recluse in a convent of one of the most 

rigorous orders ! Poor ! Perhaps, however, her fate 

may ultimately be the happiest of the two. '' The storm," 
with her, "is o'er, and she's at rest;" but the other is 
launched upon a returnless shore on a dangerous sea in- 
famous for its tremendous shipwrecks. 

Am I to hve to see the catastrophe of her career, and the 
end of this suddenly conjured-up empire, which seems to 
be of " such stuff as dreams are made of " ? 

I confess my personal acquaintance with the individuals 
who figure in this historical romance gives me uncommon 
interest in it ; but I consider it stamped with danger and 
instability, and as liable to extravagant vicissitudes as one 
of Dumas' novels. . . . 

With affectionate remembrances to Mr. Storrow, and 
love to the dear little folks. 

Your affectionate uncle, 

Washington Irving 



Seventeen years later his fears are realized -^^^ '^::> 

(George Bancroft to Mrs. J. C. Bancroft Davis) 

October 13, 1870 

jR. EVANS ^ of Paris has been here, dined with 
us, and told us the whole story of the escape 
of the empress. On the morning on which the Napoleon 
Dynasty was deposed [Sept. 4] and the mob of Paris pro- 
claimed a set of ministers, the empress was at the Tuile- 
ries, dressed in black as one who mourned for the captivity 
of her husband, with a black hat on her head, just going 
to church. On the first news she stood her ground ; but 
on learning that the Assembly had given way, she caught 



D 



1 The celebrated American dentist. 
306 



The Escape of an Empress 

up a thin aquascute spenser and went down the stairs of 
the palace to escape. The ascending crowd compelled her 
to turn back : all her people, all her household, men and 
women deserted her except Madame Le Breton. With 
Mad. Le B. she turned and went through the whole length 
of the Louvre, and came out at a little door opposite the 
Church Auxerrois or some such name — you remember the 
place well. She walked bravely with Mad. L. through 
the crowd, and drove for the Avenue Hausmann. There 
she alighted and when the fiacre was out of sight, the two 
women drove in another fiacre to the house of Dr. Evans. 
There was not in all Paris a French house, to which the 
empress could confide herself. Evans at this time was at 
the Tuileries looking out for the empress to take care of 
her and aid her flight. On returning home he found the 
two ladies in his private office, smuggled them upstairs 
into his wife's bed-room, (his wife being at Deauville and 
his servants being hoodwinked). There he gave them 
refreshment ; went out upon the Boulevards to hear cries 
for the '^ Republique'^'' ] studied the avenue of escape from 
the city ; returned to make beds for his illustrious guests 
(he would trust no servant) and his wife being a prudent 
woman who kept her wardrobe locked in her absence, 
could give them neither a change of linen nor a night- 
gown. The next morning Evans with a trusty American 
who was his assistant as dentist, and his two fugitives left 
Paris in his own carriage, and with his own horses and 
coachman. This carriage had on it the letter E. The 
empress said : " My carriage was always marked as mine ; 
hitherto with the crown : now with my name, E for Eu- 
genie." His horses being very good ones, he conducted 
the party without change sixty or seventy miles, as far as 
Lisieux. There with much diplomacy, he transferred the 
party to a hired carriage, and turning Lisieux, got into a 

307 



The Friendly Craft 

village beyond it, where they halted for the night in a sorry 
public house, which at first could offer them but one room. 
Another was obtained at last ; and the night went by. 
The next day the party reached Deauville ; and Evans 
stopping at a distance from the hotel, took the empress on 
his arm, and without meeting a person, led her up stairs to 
his wife's apartments in the hotel. Mad. L. followed 
with his assistant and openly. Till then the empress 
had no outside garment of her own, except the little water- 
proof, and kept herself comfortable by the coat of Evans. 
She had had no change of clothes, and but one pocket- 
handkerchief, which she herself washed in a glass of water 
thrice on her journey, laying it on her knees to dry. 
Brave as. she showed herself tears came often, and by 
exposure to rain she caught cold. In the night at 12 the 
party stole over the sand to Sir John Burgoyne's yacht ; 
and at five the next morning put to sea in a yacht of 30 
tons burden. The wind changed : it blew a gale ; the 
little boat tossed about like a cockle shell, but did not go 
down. So after 20 hours of terrible suffering she landed 
at Rye. Evans did not desert his party till he established 
Eugenie in a hired country house, and started her in the 
ways of Enghsh life : her housekeeping being arranged 
on an intended expenditure of 100,000 francs, that is 
$20,000 per annum. This rough outline Evans adorned 
with many details ; principally of the good spirits of the 
empress, which by the way were in part hysterical ; of her 
charming manner under circumstances of exposure, want 
of rest, want of fit food, etc. The most remarkable inci- 
dent was, that of the imperialists not one single man stood 
by her, and only one woman. . . . 



308 



Fighting Louis Quatorze 

George Bancroft on the reconstruction of Germany 
(To Mrs. Hamilton Fish) 

Berlin, ii December^ 1870 

WHEN Thiers passed through Vienna on his 
way from Petersburg to Tours, he met Ranke 
the historian, and demanded of him " Why is the war 
continued? We have discarded the emperor: with whom 
are you fighting now ? " " With Louis Quatorze," an- 
swered Ranke, and there is a great deal of truth and sig- 
nificance in the words. Louis XIV, for all his despotism, 
his inhuman bigotry, his passion for wars, has even till 
now remained in the eyes of the French as the great king : 
because he, more than any one else, used the concentered 
power which he held, to make conquests all along the 
eastern frontier. France reveres his memory, because 
his arms carried the French boundary to the Rhine. The 
hour has come for the monarchy of Louis XIV to expire : 
it dies hard, but die it must. ... 

You can hardly call the Germans a slow people. On 
our Thanksgiving day the diet of North Germany assem- 
bled to unite all Germany, and turn the Union into an 
Empire, the President into an Emperor. The work has 
been consummated in seventeen days. The assent of the 
Southern chambers of the several states will be obtained 
before New Year, and an era of glory and peace will dawn 
upon Germany with the first day of January. When King 
William succeeded his brother, he was already advanced 
in years, and wrote to the instructor of his son, that " he 
did but break the path" for him; and see the old king 
has greatly enlarged the dominions of Prussia, has united 
all Germany, has reestablished the empire, and before 
this letter can reach you will be proclaimed emperor. So 
much for having a minister like Bismarck, and a warrior 

309 



I 



The Friendly Craft 

like Moltke ; and being a man of energy and exemplary 
industry himself. . . . 

Edwin Lawrence Godkin on Imperialism and Kipling 

(To Miss Dawson) 

Dec, 23, 1899. 

DO not like to talk about the Boer war, it is too 
painful. To think of England, which I love and 
admire so much, and which is so full of beauty, being filled 
with mourning at this season ! When I do speak of the 
war my language becomes unfit for publication, and I 
therefore will not write of it to you. Talking of the 
Philippine war has the same effect upon me, and I have 
therefore ceased to write about McKinley. Every one 
who beheves in the divine government of the world must 
believe that God will eventually take up the case of fellows 
who set unnecessary wars on foot, and I hope he won't 
forgive them. 

Barring this dreadful news, life goes on as usual with 
us. I used to think, that when I got tired of the war and 
bragging here I could go over to England and live in 
peace^ but that is no longer possible, and we are making 
up our minds to stay over here through next summer — 
Dublin, N. H., or some place of that sort. I fear you with 
your perversity will seize that occasion to go over. You 
committed the second greatest mistake of your life last 
summer ; you are now ripe for the third. In the fall we 
shall go for a year or more, I do not well know where. 

Kipling has long been to me a most pernicious, vulgar 
person. I only admire one thing of his, " The Reces- 
sional." He may have written other things as good, but 
I don't read him. I think most of the current jingoism on 
both sides of the water is due to him. He is the poet of 

310 



" The Retort Courteous " 

the barrack-room cads. Of course I don't venture to set 
my judgment of him up against many good people. . . . 

XI 

«I WILL NAME YOU THE DEGREES" 

" The Retort Courteous " ^^> '<:::>' -^r^ ^^:^ ^^> 
(Jared Sparks to Henry W. Longfellow) 

DEAR SIR, — I return the article you were so good as 
to send me. In many respects it has a good deal of 
merit, but on the whole I do not think it suited to the 
[North American] " Review." Many of the thoughts and 
reflections are good, but they want maturity and betray a 
young writer. The style, too, is a little ambitious, although 
not without occasional elegance. With more practice the 
author cannot fail to become a good writer ; and perhaps 
my judgment in regard to this article would not agree with 
that of others whose opinion is to be respected ; but, after 
all, you know, we editors have no other criterion than our 
own judgment. . . . 

" The Quip Modest " -<:^ '<;^ -^r^y ^:^ ^;:^ 

Lexington, Virginia, September 26, 1866 

Mr. E. a. Pollard, 

104 West Baltimore St., 
Baltimore, Md. 

DEAR SIR : I return you my thanks for the compli- 
ment paid me by your proposition to write a history 
of my life. It is a hazardous undertaking to publish the 
life of any one while living, and there are but few who 

311 



The Friendly Craft 



would desire to read a true history of themselves. Inde- 
pendently of the few national events with which mine has 
been connected, it presents little to interest the general 
reader, nor do I know where to refer you for the necessary 
raaterials. All my private, as well as public, records have 
been destroyed or lost, except what is to be found in pub- 
lished documents, and I know of nothing available for the 
purpose. Should you, therefore, determine to undertake 
the work, you must rely upon yourself, as my time is so 
fully occupied that I am unable to promise you any assist- 
ance. 

Very respectfully, 

R. E. Lee 

"The Reply Churlish'* '^^^ ^;:> ^^ ^;^ '^:^ 

New- York, June i8, 1804 
OIR, 

^ I send for your perusal a letter signed Charles D. 
Cooper, which, though apparently published some time 
ago, has but very recently come to my knowledge. Mr. 
Van Ness, who does me the favour to deliver this, will 
point out to you that clause of the letter to which I partic- 
ularly request your attention. 

You must perceive, Sir, the necessity of a prompt and 
unqualified acknowledgment or denial of the use of any 
exipression which would warrant the assertions of Dr. 
Cooper. 

I have the honour to be, 

Your obedient serv't, 

A. Burr 
General Hamilton 



312 



(C 



The Reproof Valiant " 



" The Reproof Valiant " <^ ^^r^ ^::> ^:v -c^ 

New- York, June 22, 1804 
OIR, 

^ Your first letter, in a style too peremptory, made a 
demand, in my opinion, unprecedented and unwarrantable. 
My answer, pointing out the embarrassment, gave you an 
opportunity to take a less exceptionable course. You have 
not chosen to do it ; but by your last letter received this 
day, containing expressions indecorous and improper, you 
have increased the difficulties to explanation intrinsically 
incident to the nature of your application. 

If by a " definite reply," you mean the direct avowal or 
disavowal required in your first letter, I have no other an- 
swer to give, than that which has already been given. If 
you mean anything different, admitting of greater latitude, 
it is requisite you should explain. 
I have the honour to be. 

Sir, your obedient servant, 

Alex. Hamilton 
Aaron Burr, Esq. 

" The Countercheck Quarrelsome " -^^r^ "Qy ^v> 

Philadelphia, 5 July^ 1775 

MR. STRAHAN, 
You are a member of Parliament, and one of that 
majority, which has doomed my country to destruction. 
You have begun to burn our towns, and murder our people. 
Look upon your hands, they are stained with the blood of 
your relations ! You and I were long friends ; you are now 
my enemy, and I am, yours 

[Benjamin Franklin] 



313 



The Friendly Craft 

" The Lie Circumstantial " ^^:> ^;> ^;:^ -=^:> 

Nashville, January 3d, 1806 

GENERAL ANDREW JACKSON : — Sir, I was last 
evening informed by Mr. Dickinson that, when called 
on by Captain Ervin and himself at Mr. Winn's tavern, on 
Saturday last, to say whether the notes offered by them, or 
either of them, at the time the forfeit was paid in the race 
between Truxton and Plow Boy, were the same received 
at the time of making the race, you acknowledged they 
were, and further asserted that whoever was the author of 
a report that you had stated them to be different, was a 
damned liar ! The harshness of this expression has deeply 
wounded my feelings ; it is language to which I am a 
stranger, which no man, acquainted with my character, 
would venture to apply to me, and which, should the in- 
formation of Mr. Dickinson be correct, I shall be under 
the necessity of taking proper notice of. I shall be at 
Rutherford court before you will receive this, from whence 
I shall not return to Nashville before Thursday or Friday, 
at which time I shall expect an answer. I am, sir, your 
obedient servant, 

Thomas Swann 

"The Lie Direct" ^o ^^^ ^^^ <^ ^^:> ^:^ 

Hermitage, January 7th, 1806 

THOMAS SWANN, ESQ. : — Sir, late last evening 
was handed me, among my returns from Hays- 
borough, a letter from you, of the 3d inst., stating informa- 
tion from Dickinson, etc., etc., etc. Was it not for the 
attention due to a stranger, taking into view its tenor and 
style, I should not notice its receipt. Had the information, 
stated to have been received from Mr. Dickinson, stated a 

3H 



"The Lie Direct" 

direct application of harsh language to you — had you not 
known that the statement, as stated in your letter, was not 
correct — had it not taken place in the same house where 
you then were — had not Mr. Dickinson been applied to by 
me to bring you forward when your name was mentioned, 
and he declined — had I not the next morning had a con- 
versation with you on the same subject, and, lastly, did 
not your letter hold forth a threat of "proper notice," I 
should give your letter a direct answer. Let me, sir, ob- 
serve one thing: that I never wantonly sport with the 
feelings of innocence, nor am I ever awed into measures. 
If incautiously I inflict a wound, I always hasten to remove 
it ; if offense is taken where none is offered or intended, it 
gives me no pain. If a tale is listened to many days after 
the discourse should have taken place, when all parties are 
under the same roof, I always leave the person to judge of 
the motives that induced the information, and leave them 
to draw their own conclusions, and act accordingly. There 
are certain traits that always accompany the gentleman 
and man of truth. The moment he hears harsh expressions 
applied to a friend, he will immediately communicate it, 
that explanation may take place ; when the base poltroon 
and cowardly tale-bearer will always act in the background. 
You can apply the latter to Mr. Dickinson, and see which 
best fits him. I write it for his eye, and the latter I em- 
phatically intend for him. But, sir, it is for you to judge 
for yourself; draw your own conclusions, and, when your 
judgment is matured, act accordingly. When the conver- 
sation dropt between Mr. Dickinson and myself, I thought 
it was at an end. As he wishes to blow the coal, I am 
ready to light it to a blaze, that it may be consumed at 
once, and finally extinguished. Mr. Dickinson has given 
you the information, the subject of your letter. In return, 
and in justice to him, I request you to show him this. I 

315 



The Friendly Craft 

set out this morning for South-West Point. I will return 
at a short day, and, at all times, be assured I hold myself 
answerable for any of my conduct, and should anything 
herein contained give Mr. Dickinson the spleen, I will fur- 
nish him with an anodine as soon as I return. I am, sir, 
your obedient servant, 

Andrew Jackson 

P.S. — There were no notes delivered at the time of 
making the race, as stated in your letter; nor was the 
meeting between me and Mr. Dickinson at Mr. Winn's 
tavern on that subject. The subject of the notes was 
introduced by Mr. Dickinson as an apology for his con- 
duct, the subject of conversation. 



XII 

"QUIPS AND CRANKS" 
Three whimsical views of the future estate '<:::y ^c^ 

WITH regard to future bliss, I cannot help imagining, 
that multitudes of the zealously orthodox of dif- 
ferent sects, who at the last day may flock together in 
hopes of seeing each other damned, will be disappointed, 
and obliged to rest content with their own salvation. 

Benjamin Franklin 

I AM sure that one of the occupations of lost souls 
doomed to eternal punishment must be the copying of 
Jonathan Edwards' sermons forever and forever in just 
such handwriting as I am now joyfully inflicting on you. 
What a delightful torture it must be to the hopelessly lost 
to continually transcribe in this choice chirography the 

316 



Eleven in A, B, Ab 

special causes, the general grounds, and the absolute 
justice of their damnation. 

James G. Blaine 

GOD bless these surgeons and dentists ! May their 
good deeds be returned upon them a thousand 
fold ! May they have the felicity, in the next world, to 
have successful operations performed upon them to all 
eternity ! Washington Irving 

David Fowler, an Indian convert, recounts his need 
of a Rib ^^^ <;:^ ^q> ^:> ^;:b^ '<;^ 

(To the Rev. Eleazer Wheelock) 



ONKiDAy/une 24. 1765 

HON^ AND REVD SIR. 
I now write you a few Lines just to inform you 
that I am well at present, and have been so ever since 
I left your House. Blessed be God for his Goodness to 
me. I am well contented here as long as I am in such 
great Business. My Scholars learn very well. I have put 
eleven into a, b, ab, &c. I have three more that will 
advance to that place this Week, & some have got to the 
sixth page. It is ten thousand pities they can^t keep 
together. They are often going about to get their Pro- 
vision. One of the Chiefs in whose House I keep told me 
he believed some of the Indians would starve to Death this 
Summer. Some of them have almost consumed all their 
Corn already. 

I came too late this Spring. I could not put any Thing 
into the Ground. I hope I shall next year. I believe I 

317 



The Friendly Craft 

shall persuade all the Men in this Castle, at least the most 
of them to labour next Year. They begin to see now that 
they would live better if they cultivated their Lands than 
they do now by Hunting & Fishing. These Men are the 
laziest Crew I ever saw in all my Days. Their Women 
will get up early in the Morning, and be pounding Corn 
for Breakfast, and they (the men) be sleeping till the 
Victuals is almost ready, and as soon as the Breakfast is 
over, the Women take up their axes & Hoes & away to the 
Fields, and leave their Children with the Men to tend. 
You may see half a dozen walking about with Children 
upon their Backs — lazy and sordid Wretches — but they 
are to be pitied. 

I have been miserably off for an Interpreter — I can say 
but very little to them. I hope by next spring I shall be 
my own Interpreter. 

It is very hard to live here without the other Bone. I 
must be obliged to wash & mend my Clothes & cook all 
my Victuals, & wash all the Things I use, which is exceed- 
ing hard. I shan^t be able to employ my Vacant hours in 
improving their Lands as I should do if I had a Cook here. 

I received a letter from M"^ Kirtland last Sabbath wherein 
he informs me that the Indians who accompanied him left 
him with all his heavy pack. He had the most fatiguing 
Journey this Time he ever had. He designs to come 
down to get Provision, and if he don't he will eat no Bread 
till Indian Harvest, and his Meat is merely rotten having 
no Salt. 

May the Blessing of Heaven rest on you. 

Your affectionate tho unworthy Pupil 

David Fowler 



318 



Picking out a Rib 



II 

Canowarohare, May 13, 1766 

REVEREND SIR 
I am very sorry I can't write you a Letter which can 
be seen abroad, because M^ Kirtland is so much hurried 
to get down : but he can give you a proper Idea of my 
School and my own Affairs. — I believe I may venter to 
write my secrets to you as I wont to do, since I have so 
often seen and felt your tender Care and Affections. 
I have wrote a large Letter to Hannah Pyamphcouh which 
will either spur her up or knock her in Head. — I there- 
fore ask a Favour as a Child from kind Father or Bene- 
factor, that this Letter may be sent to the Supperscrib'd 
Place as soon as you get it into your Hands. For I shall 
be down the 13 or 14 of June and in very great Hast. I 
must tarry at your House a Week or ten Days the longest 
to shed my skin, for I am almost nacked now. I want all 
my Cloaths to be blue and that which is good : The Rea- 
son why I want this Letter to get down so soon is that 
she may have some time to think and dress herself up, & 
another which is the greatest that I may clear myself from 
those strong Bonds wherewith I bound myself to her and 
which could not let me rest Night and Day from the time 
I left her till I returned to her again, what I mean about 
clearing myself is if she denies. If she won't let her 
Bones be joined with mine I shall pick out my Rib from 
your House. 

Sir, Dont be angry with me for write [ing] so bold and 
foolish. I hope you will not expose me — Give my Kind 
Regards Mrs. Wheelock and Sir Wheelock and to all the 
Family. Accept much Love and Duty from 

Your unworthy Pupil 

David Fowler 

319 



The Friendly Craft 

Rufus Choate is guilty of contempt of court ^;:^ -^^ 

DEAR SIR, — The Court has lost its little wits. Please 
let me have — i. Our brief, (for the law.) 2. The 
defendant's brief, (for the sophistry.) 3. The opinion, 
(for the fooHshness,) and never say die. 

R.C. 

Lyman Beecher sends a telegram ^^ ^::> <;> 

(Thomas K. Beecher to his brother) 

DEAR CHARLEY,— 
... I remember an earnestness which used to be- 
tray father into a curious repetition whenever he would 
bend his energies to a profitable exhortation anent my 
waywardness : '*' This is the most important year of your 
life, my son ; you have come to the turning-point of your 
history." The first time he told me so I was a lad just 
turned eleven years ; and by many letters and words I was 
certified four times a year or oftener that I was at an "im- 
portant," "critical," " decisive " turning-point in my career, 
until I became a teacher at Philadelphia. In 1846-7 father 
was sorely exercised by the severity of my work in Phila- 
delphia. He feared a sudden break-down. His urgency 
could not abide the slowness of the mail ; he must save 
me by telegraph — I suspect, his very first telegram. 
Aided by a daughter, he undertook his costly ten words to 
save a son thus : 

" My Very Dear Son, — I have worked more" — 

Daughter. " Father, father, you can't write so much ; 
don't say My very dear Son." 

"Dear Son, — Trust a father's experience, and let me 
tell you " — 

Daughter. " No, no, father, skip all that. You can't 
make love by telegraph. Tom knows your love." 

320 



The Telegram Achieved 

An hour was spent learning how to suppress his exuber- 
ant affection, till at last the message came into shape thus : 

" Ease up. Rest — sleep — exercise. Cold water — rub. 
No tobacco. — Father" 

Some books of health contain less than this tele- 
gram. . . . 

A modest request ^;::y <:^ -^o ^:::> ^:> <:> 

, March 24, 1877 

BAYARD TAYLOR: — 
Dear Sir, — Hearing that you are a poet of some 
note as well as a good Oration writer I come to ask 
you this question and I w^ould like very much to have an 
answer in one or two days as no doubt you can write a very 
good Oration if so Let me know your price and if you can 
not write an Oration please let me know of any one that 
can please do not do as others do but answer my letter 
as soon as you can and also state your price of writing one 
for me, in every case in writing directions give no of Box 
or Street. Yours Very Truly 



P.O. Box 98. 

P.S. Give price and also subject which you would write 
on. 

P.S. Please give me the directions of E. C. Stedman and 
W. H. Stoddard and much oblige Yours Truly, 



321 



The Friendly Craft 

XIII 

COURTESIES OF. THE CRAFT 

General Washington waxes facetious over a dinner 
invitation ^^y ^Oy -^^^ -<;:> ^^ ^o ^^^ 

(To Dr. John Cochrane) 

West-Point, i6 August, 1779 

DR. DOCTOR, 
I have asked Mrs. Cochran & Mrs. Livingston to 
dine with me to-morrow ; but am I not in honor bound 
to apprize them of their fare? As I hate deception, even 
where the imagination only is concerned; I will. It is 
needless to premise, that my table is large enough to 
hold the ladies. Of this they had ocular proof yesterday. 
To say how it is usually covered, is rather more essen- 
tial ; and this shall be the purport of my Letter. 

Since our arrival at this happy spot, we have had a 
ham, (sometimes a shoulder) of Bacon, to grace the 
head of the Table; a piece of roast Beef adorns the 
foot ; and a dish of beans, or greens, (almost impercepti- 
ble,) decorates the center. When the cook has a mind 
to cut a figure, (which I presume will be the case to- 
morrow,) we have two Beef-steak pyes, or dishes of crabs, 
in addition, one on each side the center dish, dividing 
the space & reducing the distance between dish & dish 
to about 6 feet which without them would be near 12 feet 
apart. Of late he has had the surprising sagacity to 
discover, that apples will make pyes ; and its a question, 
if, in the violence of his efforts, we do not get one of 
apples, instead of having both of Beef-steaks. If the 
ladies can put up with such entertainment, and will submit 

322 



A Cautious Female 

to partake of it on plates, once Tin but now Iron — (not 
become so by the labor of scouring), I shall be happy 
to see them ; and am, dear Doctor, yours, &c. . . . 

Aaron Burr regrets ^=;^ '<o <:::>' ^^> ^;:> ^:;^ 

New- York, April i8, 1804 

YOUR vanity, if in any degree concerned, will be 
fully satisfied by the assurance that my heart, my 
wishes, and my thoughts will be with you. The mortal 
part of me is indispensably otherwise engaged. As you 
cannot fail to have admirers, you cannot fail to be amused. 
Knowing that you are happy, I shall be so by sympathy, 
though in a less degree, as reflected light is less potent 
than direct. 

A. Burr 

Dr. Holmes accepts <::y <^ ^:;:> ^:^ ^;:> -^^y 

296 Beacon Street, February 11, 1862 
Y DEAR MR. FIELDS, — On Friday evening last 



M' 



I white-cravated myself, took a carriage, and found 
myself at your door at eight of the clock p.m. 

A cautious female responded to my ring, and opened 
the chained portal about as far as a clam opens his shell 
to see what is going on in Cambridge Street, where he 
is waiting for a customer. 

Her first glance impressed her with the conviction that 
I was a burglar. The mild address with which I accosted 
her removed that impression, and I rose in the moral 
scale to the comparatively elevated position of what the 
unfeeling world calls a " sneak -thief." 

By dint, however, of soft words, and that look of ingenu- 
ous simplicity by which I am so well known to you and 

323 



The Friendly Craft 

all my friends, I coaxed her into the behef that I was 
nothing worse than a rejected contributor, an autograph 
collector, an author with a volume of poems to dispose of, 
or other disagreeable but not dangerous character. 
She unfastened the chain, and I stood before her. 

I calmed her fea^^rs, and she was calm 
And told 

me how you and Mrs. F. had gone to New York, and 
how she knew nothing of any literary debauch that was 
to come off under your roof, but would go and call another 
unprotected female who knew the past, present, and future, 
and could tell me why this was thus, that I had been 
lured from my fireside by the ignis fatims of a deceptive 
invitation. 

It was my turn to be afraid, alone in the house with two 
of the stronger sex ; and I retired. 

On reaching home, I read my note and found it was 
Friday the i6th, not the 9th, I was invited for. . . . 

Dear Mr. Fields, I shall be very happy to come to your 
home on Friday evening, the i6th February, at eight 
o'clock, to meet yourself and Mrs. Fields, and hear Mr. 
James read his paper on Emerson. . . . 

A dinner note from Daniel Webster <^ ^^r^y ^c:y 
(To Mrs. Fletcher Webster) 

DEAR CAROLINE, (Daughter Caroline — not wife 
Caroline). 
I had made up my mind to enjoy the luxury of a dish of 
baked beans today — but am willing to dine with you, & 
shall do so with great pleasure, if you will let rne br^g 7ny 
beans with tne — Therefore, look out for me & the beans, 

already cooked, at 2 O clock. 

p. W. 

324 



Words of Wisdom 

XIV 

THE FINE ART OF LIVING 

" These few precepts " '<^ ^=^^ ^^ ^::> -^^^ 

(Thomas Jefferson to Thomas Jefferson Smith) 

THIS letter will, to you, be as one from the dead. The 
writer will be in the grave before you can weigh its 
counsels. Your affectionate and excellent father has re- 
quested that I would address to you something which 
might possibly have a favorable influence on the course of 
life you have to run ; and I too, as a namesake, feel an 
interest in that course. Few words will be necessary, with 
good dispositions on your part. Adore God. Reverence 
and cherish your parents. Love your neighbor as your- 
self, and your country more than yourself. Be just. Be 
true. Murmur not at the ways of Providence. So shall 
the life into which you have entered, be the portal to one 
of eternal and ineffable bliss. And if to the dead it is 
permitted to care for the things of this world, every action 
of your life will be under my regard. Farewell. 

MoNTiCELLO, February 21st, 1825 

From S. N. Randolph's " Domestic Life of Thomas Jefferson," published by 
Harper & Brothers. 

Benjamin Franklin shuffles the cards and begins an- 
other game ^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^:> -^Ov ^^^ 
(To Mrs. Mary Hewson, May 6, 1786) 
HAVE found my family here in health, good cir- 
cumstances, and well respected by their fellow 
citizens. The companions of my youth are indeed almost all 
departed, but I find an agreeable society among their chil- 
dren and grandchildren. I have public business enough 

325 



I 



The Friendly Craft 

to preserve me from emiui^ and private amusement besides 
in conversation, books, my garden, and cribbage. Consid- 
ering our well-furnished, plentiful market as the best of 
gardens, I am turning mine, in the midst of which my 
house stands, into grass plots and gravel walks, with trees 
and flowering shrubs. Cards we sometimes play here, in 
long winter evenings ; but it is as they play at chess, not 
for money, but for honor, or the pleasure of beating one 
another. This will not be quite a novelty to you, as you 
may remember we played together in that manner during 
the winter at Passy. 

I have indeed now and then a little compunction in reflect- 
ing that I spend time so idly ; but another reflection comes 
to relieve me, whispering, " You know that the soul is hn- 
mortal; why then should you be such a niggard of a little 
time^ when you have a whole eternity before you? "^"^ So, 
being easily convinced, and, like other reasonable crea- 
tures, satisfied with a small reason, when it is in favor of 
doing what I have a mind to, I shuflle the cards again, and 
begin another game. . . . 

The futility of mere feeling -^^^ -^^^ <^ ^^::^ <^ 

(William Ellery Channing to William Shaw) 

MY DEAR FELLOW,— ... My whole life has 
been a struggle with my feelings. Last winter I 
thought myself victorious. But earth-born Antaeus has 
risen stronger than ever. I repeat it, my whole life has 
been a struggle with my feeUngs. Ask those with whom I 
have lived, and they will tell you that I am a stoic. I al- 
most thought so myself. But I only smothered a fire 
which will one day consume me. I sigh for tranquil happi- 
ness. I have long wished that my days might flow along 
like a gentle stream which fertilizes its banks and reflects 

326 



A Pretty Sonnet 

in its clear surface the face of heaven. But I can only wish 
it. I still continue sanguine, ardent, and inconstant. . . . 
The other day, I handed to a lady a sonnet of Southey's, 
which had wrung tears from me. "It is pretty," said she, 
with a smile. " Pretty ! " echoed I, as I looked at her ; 
"- Pretty ! " I went home. As I grew composed, I could 
not help reflecting that the lady who had made this answer 
was universally esteemed for her benevolence. I knew 
that she was goodness itself. But still she wanted feehng. 
*^ And what is feeling ? " said I to myself. I blushed when 
I thought more on the subject. I found that the mind was 
just as passive in that state which I called " feeling,'' as 
when it received any impressions of sense. One conse- 
quence immediately struck me, that there was no moral 
7Jterit in possessing feeling. Of course there can be no 
crime in wanting it. "Well," continued I, "I have just 
been treating with contempt a woman of active benevo- 
lence, for not possessing what I must own it is no crime to 
want. Is this just ?" I then went on to consider, 
whether there were not many persons who possessed this 
boasted feeling, but who were still deficient in active be- 
nevolence. A thousand instances occurred to me. I 
found myself among the number. " It is true," said I, 
" that I sit in my study and shed tears over human misery. 
I weep over a novel. I weep over a tale of human woe. 
But do I ever relieve the distressed ? Have I ever light- 
ened the load of affliction ? " My cheeks reddened at the 
question; a cloud of error burst from my mind. I found 
that virtue did not consist in feeling, but in acting from a 
sense of duty, . . . 



327 



The Friendly Craft 

Henry D. Thoreau advocates Work — Work — Work 

Concord, December 19, 1853 
■R. BLAKE, — My debt has accumulated so that I 



M 



should have answered your last letter at once, if I 
had not been the subject of what is called a press of en- 
gagements, having a lecture to write for last Wednesday, 
and surveying more than usual besides. It has been a 
kind of running fight with me, — the enemy not always 
behind me I trust. 

True, a man cannot lift himself by his own waistbands, 
because he cannot get out of himself; but he can expand 
himself (which is better, there being no up nor down in 
nature), and so split his waistbands, being already within 
himself. 

You speak of doing and being, and the vanity, real or 
apparent, of much doing. The suckers — I think it is they 
— make nests in our river in the spring of more than a 
cart-load of small stones, amid which to deposit their ova. 
The other day I opened a muskrat's house. It was made 
of weeds, five feet broad at base, and three feet high, and 
far and low within it was a little cavity, only a foot in 
diameter, where the rat dwelt. It may seem trivial, this 
piling up of weeds, but so the race of muskrats is pre- 
served. We must heap up a great pile of doing, for a small 
diameter of being. Is it not imperative on us that we do 
something, if we only work in a treadmill ? And, indeed, 
some sort of revolving is necessary to produce a centre and 
nucleus of being. What exercise is to the body, employ- 
ment is to the mind and morals. Consider what an 
amount of drudgery must be performed — how much 
humdrum and prosaic labor goes to any work of the least 
value. There are so many layers of mere white lime in 
every shell to that thin inner one so beautifully tinted. 

328 



The Discipline of Work 

Let not the shellfish think to build his house of that alone ; 
and pray, what are its tints to him ? Is it not his smooth, 
close-fitting shirt merely, whose tints are not to him, being 
in the dark, but only when he is gone or dead, and his 
shell is heaved up to light, a wreck upon the beach, do 
they appear. With him, too, it is a Song of the Shirt, 
" Work, — work, — work ! " And the work is not merely 
a police in the gross sense, but in the higher sense a dis- 
cipline. If it is surely the means to the highest end we 
know, can any work be humble or disgusting ? Will it not 
rather be elevating as a ladder, the means by which we are 
translated ? 

How admirably the artist is made to accomplish his 
self-culture by devotion to his art ! The wood-sawyer, 
through his effort to do his work well, becomes not merely 
a better wood-sawyer, but measurably a better man. 
Few are the men that can work on their navels, — only 
some Brahmins that I have heard of. To the painter is 
given some paint and canvas instead ; to the Irishman a 
hog, typical of himself. In a thousand apparently humble 
ways men busy themselves to make some right take the 
place of some wrong, — if it is only to make a better paste 
blacking, — and they are themselves so much the better 
morally for it. 

You say that you do not succeed much. Does it con- 
cern you enough that you do not ? Do you work hard 
enough at it ? Do you get the benefit of discipline out of 
it ? If so, persevere. Is it a more serious thing than to 
walk a thousand miles in a thousand successive hours ? 
Do you get any corns by it ? Do you ever think of hang- 
ing yourself on account of failure ? 

If you are going into that line, — going to besiege the 
city of God, — you must not only be strong in engines, but 
prepared with provisions to starve out the garrison. An 

329 



The Friendly Craft 

Irishman came to see me to-day, who is endeavoring to get 
his family out to this New World. He rises at half past 
four, milks twenty-eight cows (which has swollen the joints 
of his fingers), and eats his breakfast, without any milk in 
his tea or coffee, before six ; and so on, day after day, for 
six and a half dollars a month ; and thus he keeps his 
virtue in him, if he does not add to it ; and he regards me 
as a gentleman able to assist him ; but if I ever get to be 
a gentleman, it will be by working after my fashion harder 
than he does. If my joints are not swollen, it must be 
because I deal with the teats of celestial cows before 
breakfast (and the milker in this case is always allowed 
some of the milk for his breakfast), to say nothing of the 
flocks and herds of Admetus afterward. 

It is the art of mankind to polish the world, and every 
one who works is scrubbing in some part. 

If the work is high and far, 

You must not only aim aright, 

But draw the bow with all your might. 

You must qualify yourself to use a bow which no humbler 
archer can bend. 

" Work, — work, — work ! " 
Who shall know it for a bow ? It is not of yew tree. It is 
straighter than a ray of light ; flexibility is not known for 
one of its qualities. 

December 22 

So far I had got when I was called off to survey. . . . 

Those Brahmins " put it through."" They come off, or 
rather stand still, conquerors, with some withered arms or 
legs at least to show ; and they are said to have cultivated 
the faculty of abstraction to a degree unknown to Euro- 
peans. If we cannot sing of faith and triumph, we will 
sing our despair. We will be that kind of bird. There 

330 



Go Ahead 

are day owls, and there are night owls, and each is beauti- 
ful and even musical while about its business. 

Might you not find some positive work to do with your 
back to Church and State, letting your back do all the 
rejection of them ? Can you not go upon your pilgrimage, 
Peter, along the winding mountain path whither you face ? 
A step more will make those funeral church bells over your 
shoulder sound far and sweet as a natural sound. 

" Work, — work, — work." 

Why not make a very large mud pie and bake it in the 
sun ! Only put no Church nor State into it, nor upset any 
other pepper-box that way. Dig out a woodchuck, — for 
that has nothing to do with rotting institutions. Go 
ahead. . . . 

You said that you were writing on Immortality. I wish 
you would communicate to me what you know about that. 
You are sure to live while that is your theme. 

Thus I write on some text which a sentence of your let- 
ters may have furnished. 

I think of coming to see you as soon as I get a new coat, 
if I have money enough left. I will write to you again 
about it. . . . 

Erreur Men douloureuse ^;:^ '^::> -<:> ^^ 

(Edwin Lawrence Godkin to Miss Tuckerman) 

New York, Oct, 13, 1897 

MY DEAR EMILY : — 
I have sent the extract for publication, and it will 
appear on Saturday. But I hesitate to promise a blood- 
curdling editorial so soon. 

I wish, I must confess that you were more interested in 
men and less in trees. As far as I can see, the great 
interests of civilization in this country are being left pretty 

331 



The Friendly Craft 



much to women. The men have thrown themselves 
pretty much into simple money-making. You have no 
idea how they shirk everything which interferes with this, 
how cowardly they have grown about everything which 
threatens pecuniary loss. It is the women who are caring 
for the things which most distinguish civilized men from 
savages. But the best women are leaving no descendants. 
They train no men. The best I know do not marry, so 
that society gets but little from them. I know a dozen who 
will pass away leaving nothing but gracious memories. 
You are one of them. You think apparently that you are 
serving the State sufficiently by attention to forests and 
infant schools. Erreur^ erreiir bien douloureusel I do 
do not know what the future of our modern civilization 
is to be. But I stumble where I firmly trod. I do not 
think things are going well with us in spite of our rail- 
roads and bridges. Among the male sex something is 
wanting, something tremendous. . . . 

" The hour of peaceful rest " ^;^ '<Ci^ ^s:> ^^ 
(Theodore Parker to Miss Hunt) 

Boston, Saturday Nighty Oct, 31, 1857 

MY DEAR LITTLE MITE O' SARAH, away off at 
Florence, — It is All Saints' Eve to-night, and my 
sermon has been long since ended, the last word added at 
the end, and I have had a little time to gather up my soul 
for the coming Sunday. I don't like to rush from a week 
of hard work into the prayers and hymns of the Sunday 
without a little breathing time of devotion, so I walk about 
the study, and hum over bits of hymns, or recall various 
little tender emotions, and feel the beating of that great 
Heart of the Universe which warms us all with the life that 
never dies. I don't know that these are not the richest 

332 



Prisms and Rainbows 

hours of my life ; certainly they have always been the 
happiest. ... 

An antidote for age --q^ -<;:> ^:^ ^:;::y ^;^ ^v> 
(Lydia Maria Child to Mrs. S. B. Shaw. 1868) 
READ only ^' chipper " books. I hang prisms in 
my windows to fill the room with rainbows ; I 
gaze at all the bright pictures in shop windows ; I culti- 
vate the gayest flowers ; I seek cheerfulness in every 
possible way. This is my " necessity in being old." 

" In the half way house " ^^:> ^^> ^^:^ ^^::> ^^ 

(From Mrs. Caroline C. Briggs) 

June 24, 1883 



I 



I 



THINK of you very often, and wish that you could 
get out more freely into the beautiful world, so 
full of bloom and fragrance. Perhaps it never seemed to 
me so full of charm. I think my little trouble, which has 
shut me out from some other -things because I have not 
been very strong, has left my heart very free for all the 
beauty of nature. Every morning when I open my eyes to 
the gladsomeness of it all, when the birds are so joyful, 
and all is so dewy and fresh, I have a feeling of thanks- 
giving. The days pass quickly, — not much work done, 
nor even the desire for it. After dinner a lying off, half 
undressed, with a book of some sort ; late in the afternoon 
a charming drive with my friend, with dear old Dom, with 
his patient recognition of all one's moods, and always 
offering for acceptance the best that is in him in his meek 
fashion. The whole world is clothed in blossoms and 
full of song and sweetness ; beautiful butterflies, yellow 
and black, of the richest browns, or black and blue ; 

333 



The Friendly Craft 

dragon-flies, bees, chirping crickets, brooks that babble in 
the meadows or sing softly in the woods ; fields all sprinkled 
with daisies and buttercups ; the roadsides a tangle of 
tenderest green and sweet vines ; all and everything in the 
full tide of beauty ; life for all and to spare ; the cows and 
calves ; goats with their little kids ; stealthy, graceful cats 
stealing through the grass ; blossoming clover, and the 
pretty spring flowers creeping away till the sight of one is 
a variety. 

One is so grateful for it all, so thankful that it comes to 
them so joyfully, — age, care, pain, and regret banished, — 
so has it come to me, and I have accepted it almost as my 
right. What do I accomplish for my fellow-creatures? 
Nothing ; yet I am content in a strange way which I don't 
half understand. It is not quite self-indulgence, but it is 
like sitting in the twilight with the day's work done, with 
folded hands, listening to the psalm which is going up 
from the whole world, and looking at the beautiful vision 
of earth, sky, and pictured water, all rejoicing in the smile 
of the eternal. I feel myself in a strange mood, almost 
like another person, but I do not struggle. While I trust 
the day will come for me for more and better work, some- 
how it seems meet to rest now, and I rest and am thank- 
ful. . . . 

The dominant will ^^^ ^^:^ ^::y ^v::^ -^ir^^ ^c:::^ 

(Charles Godfrey Leland to Mrs. Elizabeth Robins 
Pennell) 

Hotel Victoria, Florence, Dec. nth, 1897 

NEVER knew nor heard of any human being 
who lives so secludea as I do. I am in love 
with — absorbed and buried in work. I am, if anything, 
rather better or stronger than I was a year ago, and keep 

334 



I 



In Love with Work 

perfectly well. I attribute this to cultivating the Will, or 
maintained mental resolution^ which has opened to me 
during the past year a new life. Thus it is really true that, 
in all my life, I never could write or work so many hours 
in succession — in fact I never tire, though I work all my 
waking minutes — as now. This is absolutely due to the 
habit formed of every night resolving and repeating, with 
all my Will, that I will work con amore all day long to- 
morrow. I have also found that if we resolve to be vigor- 
ous of body and of mind, calm, collected, cheerful, etc., 
that we can effect marvels, for it is certainly true that after 
a while the Spirit or will does haunt us unconsciously and 
marvellously. I have, I believe, half changed my nature 
under this discipline. I will continually to be free from 
folly, envy, irritability, and vanity, to forgive and forget — 
and I have found, by willing and often recurring to it, that, 
while I am far from being exempt from fault, I have elimi- 
nated a vast mass of it from my mind. Such things do 
not involuntarily occur 7iow without prompt correction, — 
when they come and I think of old wrongs, troubles, etc., 
I at once say, "Ah, there you are — begone !" If I had 
begun this by hypnotizing myself long ago, I should, to 
judge from recent experience, have attained to the miracu- 
lous, I begin to realize in very fact that there are tre- 
mendous powers, quite unknown to us, in the mind, and 
that we can perhaps by long continued steady will awake 
abilities of which we never dreamed. Thus you can by 
repetition will yourself to notice hundreds of things which 
used to escape you, and this soon begins to appear to be 
miraculous. You must will and think the things over and 
over as if learning a lesson, saying or rather thinking to 
yourself intently, "I will that all day to-morrow I shall 
notice every little thing." And though you forget all 
about it, it will not forget itself, and it will haunt you, and 

335 



The Friendly Craft 

you will notice all kinds of things. After doing this a 
dozen times you will have a new faculty awakened. It is 
certainly true that, as Kant wrote to Hufeland, many dis- 
eases can be cured by resolving ih^m. away — he thought 
the gout could be. But it cannot be done all at once — it 
needs long and continued effort to bring this to pass with 
confident faith. I certainly think that I have improved my 
health by it. . . . 

XV 

^^THE CLOUD ON THE WAY" 

" After the curfew " ^^^ ^:^ ^::y ^r^^ -<;:> 

(Thomas Jefferson to John Adams) 

MoNTiCELLO, June 1st, 1822 
T is very long, my dear Sir, since I have written 



I 



to you. My dislocated wTist is now become so 
stiff that I write slowly and wdth pain, and therefore write 
as little as I can. Yet it is due to mutual friendship to 
ask once in a while how we do. The papers tell us that 
General Stark is off at the age of 93. Charles Thompson 
still lives at about the same age — cheerful, slender as a 
grasshopper, and so much without memory that he scarcely 
recognizes the members of his household. An intimate 
friend of his called on him not long since ; it was difficult 
to make him recollect who he was, and, sitting one hour, 
he told him the same story four times over. Is this life — 

" with lab'ring step 
To tread our former footsteps ? — pace the round 
Eternal ? — to beat and beat 
The beaten track ? — to see what we have seen, 
To taste the tasted ? — o'er our palates to decant 
Another vintage ? " 

336 



Is Death an Evil ? 

It is at most but the life of a cabbage ; surely not worth 
a wish. When all our faculties have left, or are leaving 
us, one by one — sight, hearing, memory — every avenue 
of pleasing sensation is closed, and athumy, debility, and 
malaise left in their places — when friends of our youth are 
all gone, and a generation is risen around us whom we 
know not, is death an evil ? 

" When one by one our ties are torn, 
And friend from friend is snatched forlorn, 
"When man is left alone to mourn, 
Oh ! then how sweet it is to die ! 
When trembling limbs refuse their weight, 
And films slow gathering dim the sight, 
When clouds obscure the mental light, 
'Tis nature's kindest boon to die ! " 

I really think so. I have ever dreaded a doting old age ; 
and my health has been generally so good, and is now 
so good, that I dread it still. The rapid decline of my 
strength during the last winter has made me hope some- 
times that I see land. During summer I enjoy its temper- 
ature; but I shudder at the approach of winter, and wish I 
could sleep through it with the dormouse, and only wake 
with him in spring, if ever. They say that Stark could 
walk about his room. I am told you walk well and firmly. 
I can only reach my garden, and that with sensible fatigue. 
I ride, however, daily. But reading is my delight. I 
should wish never to put pen to paper ; and the more 
because of the treacherous practice some people have of 
pubUshing one^s letters without leave. Lord Mansfield 
declared it a breach of trust, and punishable at law. I 
think it should be a penitentiary felony ; yet you will have 
seen that they have drawn me out into the arena of the 
newspapers. Although I know it is too late for me to 
z 337 



The Friendly Craft 

buckle on the armor of youth, yet my indignation would 
not permit me passively to receive the kick of an ass. 

To turn to the news of the day, it seems that the canni- 
bals of Europe are going to eating one another again. A 
war between Russia and Turkey is like the battle of the 
kite and snake. Whichever destroys the other leaves a 
destroyer the less for the world. This pugnacious humor 
of mankind seems to be the law of his nature, one of the 
obstacles to too great multiplication provided in the mech- 
anism of the universe. The cocks of the hen-yard kill 
one another. Bears, bulls, rams, do the same. And the 
horse, in his wild state, kills all the young males, until, 
worn down with age and war, some vigorous youth kills 
him, and takes to himself the harem of females. I hope 
we shall prove how much happier for man the Quaker 
policy is, and that the life of the feeder is better than that 
of the fighter ; and it is some consolation that the desola- 
tion by these maniacs of one part of the earth is the means 
of improving it in other parts. Let the latter be our office, 
and let us milk the cow, while the Russian holds her by 
the horns, and the Turk by the tail. God bless you, and 
give you health, strength, and good spirits, and as much 
of life as you think worth having. . . . 

From S. N. Randolph's ** Domestic Life of Thomas Jefferson," published by 
Harper & Brothers. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson brings his mother home '^::> 

(To his wife) 
New York, Thursday^ May 12, 1836 

DEAR LIDIAN, — Yesterday afternoon we attended 
Charles's ^ funeral. Mother and Elizabeth heard the 
prayers, but did not go out. Mother is very well, and 

1 His brother. 

338 



An Upper Chamber 



bears her sorrow like one made to bear it and to comfort 
others. Elizabeth is well, and the strength and truth of 
her character appear under this bitter calamity. William 
and Susan are well and thoroughly kind to us, as they have 
been tenderly faithful to Charles. 1 have told mother I 
think it best, on every account, she should return imme- 
diately with me, and end her painful visit to New York, 
whither she came to spend a month of happiness in the 
new household of her son. It has been seven or eight 
months of much sickness, anxiety, and death. She will 
return with me and Elizabeth, and we take the boat to- 
morrow afternoon. Now, my dear wife, shall I find you 
in Boston or in Concord ? Do what you think best. You 
may think it necessary to go home on Friday, to make 
ready and receive us, or perhaps you can send sufficient 
word and go with us on Saturday. It is not of much im- 
portance any way. Trifles all. Only I wish mother to 
sit down as gently and wontedly in her chamber in your 
house as if she had never been in any other. 

. . . And so, Lidian, I can never bring you back my 
noble friend, who was my ornament, my wisdom, and my 
pride. A soul is gone, so costly and so rare that few 
persons were capable of knowing its price, and I shall 
have my sorrow to myself; for if I speak of him I shall be 
thought a fond exaggerator. He had the fourfold perfec- 
tion of good sense, of genius, of grace, and of virtue as I 
have never seen them combined. I determined to live in 
Concord, as you know, because he was there ; and now 
that the immense promise of his maturity is destroyed, I 
feel not only unfastened there and adrift, but a sort of 
shame at living at all. I am thankful, dear Lidian, that 
you have seen and known him to that degree you have. I 
should not have known how to forgive you an ignorance 
of him, had he been out of your sight. Thanks, thanks 

339 



The Friendly Craft 



for your kindest sympathy and appreciation of him. And 
you must be content henceforth with only a piece of your 
husband ; for the best of his strength lay in the soul with 
which he must no more on earth take counsel. How much 
I saw through his eyes ! I feel as if my own were very 
dim. Yours affectionately, 

Waldo E. 

The philosophy of compensation avails not to comfort 
one who mourns his son dead in his beauty ^o 

(Ralph Waldo Emerson to Margaret Fuller) 

Concord, January ^P^ 1844 

WHEN, last Saturday night, Lidian said, " It is two 
years to-day," I only heard the bell-stroke again. 
I have had no experience, no progress, to put me into 
better intelligence with my calamity than when it was new. 
I read lately, in Drummond of Hawthornden, Ben Jonson's 
narrative to him of the death of his son, who died of the 
plague in London. Ben Jonson was at the time in the 
country, and saw the boy in a vision ; " of a manly shape, 
and of that growth, he thinks, he shall be at the resurrec- 
tion." That same preternatural maturity did my beautiful 
statue assume the day after death ; and so it often comes 
to me, to tax the world with frivolity. But the inarticu- 
lateness of the Supreme Power how can we insatiate hear- 
ers, perceivers, and thinkers ever reconcile ourselves unto ? 
It deals all too lightly with us low-levelled and weaponed 
men. Does the Power labor as men do with the impossi- 
bility of perfect application, that always the hurt is of 
one kind and the compensation of another ? My divine 
temple, which all angels seemed to love to build, and 
which was shattered in a night, I can never rebuild : and 

340 



Patience and Patience 

is the facility of entertainment from thought, or friendship, 
or affairs an amends? Rather it seems like a cup of 
Somnus or of Momus. Yet the nature of things, against all 
appearances and specialties whatever, assures us of eter- 
nal benefit. But these affirmations are tacit and secular ; 
if spoken, they have a hollow and canting sound. And 
thus all our being, dear friend, is ever more adjourned. 
Patience, and patience, and patience ! I will try, since 
you ask it, to copy my rude dirges to my darling, and send 
them to you. . . . 

*^ Immortal away from me " ^;^ ^=;^ ^;:y ^:::^^ ^Qy 
(James Russell Lowell to Charles F. Briggs) 

Elmwood, Nov. 25, 1853 

MY DEAR OLD FRIEND, — Your letter came while 
I was sadly sealing up and filing away my old let- 
ters, for I feel now for the first time old, and as if I had a 
past — something, I mean, quite alien to my present life, 
and from which I am now exiled. How beautiful that 
past was and how I cannot see it clearly yet for my tears 
I need not tell you. I can only hope and pray that the 
sweet influences of thirteen years spent with one like her 
may be seen and felt in my daily life henceforth. At 
present I only feel that there is a chamber whose name is 
Peace, and which opens towards the sunrising, and that I 
am not in it. I keep repeating to myself " by and by," 
'''- by and by," till that trivial phrase has acquired an in- 
tense meaning. I know very well that this sunset-glow, 
even of a life like hers, will fade by degrees ; that the brisk, 
busy day will return with its bills and notes and beef and 
beer, intrusive, distracting — but in the meantime I pray. 
I do abhor sentimentaHty from the bottom of my soul, 
and cannot wear my grief upon my sleeves, but yet I look 

341 



The Friendly Craft 

forward with agony to the time when she may become a 
memory instead of a constant presence. She promised to 
be with me if that were possible, but it demands all the 
energy of the soul to believe without sight, and all the 
unmetaphysical simplicity of faith to distinguish between 
fact and fancy. I know that the little transparent film 
which covers the pupil of my eye is the only wall between 
her world and mine, but that hair-breadth is as effectual as 
the space between us and the sun. I cannot see her, I 
cannot feel when I come home that she comes to the door 
to welcome me as she always did. I can only hope that 
when I go through the last door that opens for all of us I 
may hear her coming step upon the other side. That her 
death was so beautiful and calm and full of faith as it was 
gives me no consolation, for it was only that rare texture 
of her life continuing to the very end, and makes me feel 
all the more what I had and what I have not. 

I began this upon a great sheet because it reminded me 
of the dear old times that are dead and buried now. But 
I cannot write much more. I keep myself employed most 
of the time — in something mechanical as much as pos- 
sible — and in walking. . . . 

You say something of coming to Boston. I wish I 
could see you. It would be a great comfort. . . . 

I am glad for your friendly sake that my article was a 
popular one, but the news of it only pained me. It came 
too late to please the only human being to please whom I 
greatly cared and whose satisfaction was to me prosperity 
and fame. But her poem — how beautiful it was, and how 
fitting for the last ! . . . 

So God bless you, and think of me always as your more 
loving friend, T. R. L. 

From ** Letters of James Russell Lowell," edited by Charles Eliot Norton. 
Copyright, 1893, by Harper & Brothers. 



I 



The Mission of Pain 

"The same old baffling questions " ^c:y ^o ^:^ 

I 

(William Ellery Channing to Mrs. E. L. Follen) 

N regard to the evils of life, they trouble me less 
and less. I see pain and death everywhere. 
All animated nature suffers and dies. Life begins and 
ends in pain. Then pain has a great work to do. Then 
there is a vast good before us, to outweigh and annihilate 
it. Its universality reconciles me to it. I do not ask to 
be exempted from the common lot. In this, as in all 
things, I wish to go with my race. I pretend not to 
explain things, but I do see glorious issues of suffering, 
and these are enough. Once, had I been called upon to 
create the earth, I should have done as the many would 
now, — I should have laid it out in pleasure-grounds, and 
given man Milton's occupation of tending flowers, &c., &c. 
But I am now satisfied with this wild earth, its awful 
mountains and depths, steeps and torrents. I am not 
sorry to learn that God's end is a virtue far higher than I 
should have prescribed. . . . 

II 

(Oliver Wendell Holmes to Harriet Beecher Stowe) 

March 3, 1876 

MY DEAR MRS. STOWE, — How could you have 
given me greater pleasure than by asking me to 
copy the verses which I enclose ? I shall set this request 
by the side of a reminiscence very dear to me. A cousin 
of my wife — Miss Sally Gardiner, — older than myself, 
unmarried, fastidious, a lover of Emerson's writings, a 
good and delicately organized woman, on whose grave- 
stone I read " She loved much," once said to me or one 

343 



The Friendly Craft 

of my friends that there was a poem of mine she often 
read the last thing at night, — as children say ^'Now I lay 
me." This was "The Chambered Nautilus." You have 
given me the one memory to store with that. How grate- 
ful we ought ta be for our better moments, that lift in- 
firmer natures, for the time at least, to the level of those 
whom they admire and reverence ! 

Your letters always touch me, but I hardly know how 
to answer them without following their own suggestions. 
And this last falls in remarkably with many of my own 
thoughts during the past year. Out of our Saturday Club 
we have lost Sumner and Howe. I paid my small tribute 
to both, — that to Howe will be in the April Atlaiitic. 
Last summer, as I may have told you, I was in daily rela- 
tions for some weeks with Motley, who is still in the valley 
of the shadow of death, the death of one whose life was 
dearer to him than his own. He himself was in shattered 
and precarious health, and to be with him was to read 
very deep into the human soul in its sincerest realities. 
What yearning there is in tender natures, knitted in with 
the life of others, often nobler and purer than themselves, 
for that unquestioning, child-like belief which is so largely 
a divine gift, and for which many pray without ever reach- 
ing it ! If God will make such good women as he does 
every day, he must not quarrel with his poor creatures for 
making too much of his earthly manifestations. The 
Catholics idealize and idoHze a bambino, a virgin, a saint ; 
and is not a living fellow-creature, full of all that we con- 
ceive makes an angelic, one might say divine, character, 
more naturally and easily made an idol — eidolon — image, 
to a common imagination, than a stuffed doll, or a picture, 
or an abstraction ? Father, mother, wife, sister, daughter, 
— if these do not furnish me the elements out of which 
I put together my poor limited working conception of the 

344 



The Mystery of Suffering 

Divine, I know not where to look for them. It is not by 
a parcel of adjectives without nouns, multiplied by the 
sign of infinity, that I can get at the conception, for which 
I am to keep all my respect and affection. 

I have only stammered out in my own way what you 
have said in simpler phrase in your letter. All that you say 
of the Infinite love and pity is the very substance of such 
belief as I cherish in the midst of the doubts and difficul- 
ties around us, all which imperatively demand new forms 
for that universal and undying sentiment, without which 
life is the pitiful melodrama which would make us ashamed 
of its author for making anything above a vegetable, — 
anything with possibilities of suffering. To you, I suppose, 
sin is the mystery, — to me suffering is. I trust Love will 
prove the solution of both. At any rate no atomic philoso- 
phy can prevent my hoping that it will prove so. . . . 

Educational suffering I can to a certain extent under- 
stand. But the great solid mass of daily anguish which 
the sun looks upon — and looks away from, as if he could 
not bear it, — antedating man, including everything that 
has a nerve in it, — that I can do nothing with. " Sin,'' 
or the failure of an imperfectly made and imperfectly 
guided being to keep a perfect law, seems to me to be 
given in the mere statement of the conditions of humanity, 
and could not be a surprise or a disappointment to a 
Creator with reasoning powers no greater than those of a 
human being of ordinary wisdom. But I must not weary, 
perhaps worry, you with my theological or anti-theological 
notions — say rather, convictions. Some time I may have 
the chance to talk about these with you. . . . 

You will read this letter charitably, I know ; it is care- 
lessly worded, and only hints many things I could talk 
better. I rarely have the patience to write so much as 
this, and it takes a woman to write a real letter. . . . 

345 



The Friendly Craft 

The unendurable pain ^;^ ^^ -<^y ^v:> ^;::> 

(Celia Thaxter to Adaline Hepworth, from Appledore, 
Sept. 15, 1890) 



I 



HAVE moved down to my mother's room from 
the lonesome cottage. The little garden is 
splendid with flowers now, and draped to the eaves with 
thick vines. To-day the rain falls steadily, the slow, 
autumn rain. There is no sound, except the falling drops, 
— of wind, or sea, or bird, or human creature ; it seems 
like the end of life, so still and so motionless. I think I 
must go over to Portsmouth early this year. The silence 
weighs on me. I am tired after all the long summer. 

The griefs God sends, if one only stops to think, after 
all are easy to bear, because God sends them. It is only 
the pain one brings on one's self that cannot so patiently 
be borne. . . . 

" Good night, sweet Prince " ^ ^c^ ^>y <;:n^ <n^ 

(Thomas Bailey Aldrich to William Winter) 

PoNKAPOG, Mass., June 12, 1893 

DEAR WILL: We reached Mount Auburn a few 
minutes before sunset. Just as Edwin [Booth] was 
laid in the grave, among the fragrant pine-boughs which 
lined it, and softened its cruelty, the sun went down. I 
never saw anything of such heart-breaking loveliness as 
this scene. There in the tender afterglow two or three 
hundred men and women stood silent with bowed heads. 
A single bird, in a nest hidden somewhere near by 
twittered from time to time. The soft June air, blowing 
across the upland, brought with it the scent of syringa 
1 See page 212. 
346 



A Gentle Soul 

blossoms from the slope below. Overhead and among 
the trees the twilight was gathering. " Good night, sweet 
Prince ! " I said, under my breath, remembering your 
quotation. Then I thought of the years and years that 
had been made rich with his presence, and of the years 
that were to come, — for us not many, surely, — and if 
there had not been a crowd of people, I would have buried 
my face in the greensward and wept, as men may not do, 
and women may. And thus we left him. 

Some day, when I come to New York, we must get 
together in a corner at The Players, and talk about him — 
his sorrows and his genius, and his gentle soul. 

Ever affectionately, 

Tom 

Lest we grieve the dead ^^:^y '<::i>' -^ry --Qy -^cy 

(From Charles Godfrey Leland) 

Homburg-les-Bains, July 23d, 1890 
|EAR MISS OWEN, — It is truly with grief I learn 



D' 



that a great loss has befallen you. As regards terri- 
ble bereavements there is but one thing to do wisely — to 
draw nearer to those who remain or whatever is near and 
dear to us in life, and love them the more, and become 
gentler and better ourselves, making more of what is left. 
There are people who wail and grieve incessantly and 
neglect the living to extravagance. It seems always as if 
they attracted further losses and deeper miseries. Weak 
and simple minds grieve most, — melancholy becomes a 
kind of painful indulgence, and finally a deadly habit. 
Work is the great remedy. I think a great deal of the old 
Northern beUef that if we lament too much for the dead, 
they cannot rest in their graves and are tormented by our 

347 



The Friendly Craft 

tears. It is a pity that the number of our years is not 
written on our foreheads when we are born. . . . 

Keep up your heart, work hard, live in hope, write books, 
make a name, study — there is a great deal in you. As in 
China — we ennoble the dead by ennobling ourselves. . . . 

Ralph Waldo Emerson exhorts Thomas Carlyle to be 
strong and endure ''^:> ^^ ^=c> ^v> ^^:^ 

Concord, i6 May^ 1866 

MY DEAR CARLYLE, — I have just been shown a 
private letter from Moncure Conway to one of his 
friends here, giving some tidings of your sad return to an 
empty home. We had the first news last week. And so 
it is. The stroke long threatened has fallen at last, in 
the mildest form to its victim, and relieved to you by 
long and repeated reprieves. I must think her fortunate 
also in this gentle departure, as she had been in her serene 
and honored career. We would not for ourselves count 
covetously the descending steps after we have passed the 
top of the mount, or grudge to spare some of the days of 
decay. And you will have the peace of knowing her safe, 
and no longer a victim. I have found myself recalling 
an old verse which one utters to the parting soul, — 

" For thou hast passed all change of human life, 
And not again to thee shall beauty die." 

It is thirty-three years in July, I beHeve, since I first saw 
her, and her conversation and faultless manners gave as- 
surance of a good and happy future. As I have not wit- 
nessed any decline, I can hardly believe in any, and still 
recall vividly the youthful wife, and her blithe account of 
her letters and homages from Goethe, and the details she 
gave of her intended visit to Weimar, and its disappoint- 

348 



The Awful Oracles 

ment. Her goodness to me and to my friends was ever 
perfect, and all Americans have agreed in her praise. 
Elizabeth Hoar remembers her with entire sympathy and 
regard. 

I could heartily wish to see you for an hour in these 
lonely days. Your friends, I know, will approach you as 
tenderly as friends can ; and I can believe that labor — all 
whose precious secrets you know — will prove a consoler, — 
though it cannot quite avail, for she was the rest that 
rewarded labor. It is good that you are strong, and built 
for endurance. Nor will you shun to consult the awful 
oracles which in these hours of tenderness are sometimes 
vouchsafed. If to any, to you. 

I rejoice that she stayed to enjoy the knowledge of your 
good day at Edinburgh, which is a leaf we would not spare 
from your book of life. It was a right manly speech to be 
so made, and is a voucher of unbroken strength, — and the 
surroundings, as I learn, were all the happiest, — with no 
hint of change. 

I pray you bear in mind your own counsels. Long 
years you must still achieve, and, I hope, neither grief nor 
weariness will let you "join the dim choir of the bards that 
have been," until you have written the book I wish and 
wait for, — the sincerest confessions of your best hours. 

My wife prays to be remembered to you with sympathy 
and affection. 

Ever yours faithfully, 

R. W. Emerson 



349 



The Friendly Craft 

XVI 

THE UNCONQUERABLE HOPE 

Judging from the past, Benjamin Franklin anticipates 
the future with rational assurance ^::y -^^^ ^:::> 

I 
(To the Rev. George Whitefield; June 19, 1764) 

. . . "\/'OUR frequently repeated wishes for my eternal, 
J^ as well as my temporal happiness, are very 
obliging, and I can only thank you for them and offer you 
mine in return. I have myself no doubt, that I shall enjoy 
as much of both as is proper for me. That Being, who 
gave me existence, and through almost threescore years 
has been continually showering his favors upon me, whose 
very chastisements have been blessings to me ; can I doubt 
that he loves me ? And, if he loves me, can I doubt that 
he will go on to take care of me, not only here but hereafter ? 
This to some may seem presumption ; to me it appears the 
best grounded hope ; hope of the future built on experience 
of the past. . . . 

II 

(To Dr. Shipley, Bishop of St. Asaph, Feb, 24, 1786) 

. . . 'T^HE course of nature must soon put a period to 
J- my present mode of existence. This I shall 
submit to with the less regret, as, having seen during a long 
life a good deal of this world, I feel a growing curiosity to 
be acquainted with some other; and can cheerfully, with 
filial confidence, resign my spirit to the conduct of that 
great and good Parent of mankind, who created it, and 
who has so graciously protected and prospered me from my 
birth to the present hour. . . . 



The Only Reality 

Ralph Waldo Emerson expounds his creed ^^ii^ ^::> 

Concord, July 3, 1841 



I 



AM very much moved by the earnestness of your 
appeal, but very much humbled by it ; for in at- 
tributing to me that attainment and that rest which I well 
know are not mine it accuses my shortcomings. I am, like 
you, a seeker of the perfect and admirable Good. My 
creed is very simple that Goodness is the only Reality, 
that to Goodness alone can we trust, to that we may trust 
all and always ; beautiful and blessed and blessing is it, 
even though it should seem to slay me. 

Beyond this I have no knowledge, no intelligence of 
methods ; I know no steps, no degrees, no favorite means, 
no detached rules. Itself is gate and road and leader and 
march. Only trust it, be of it, be it, and it shall be well 
with us forever. It will be and govern in its own tran- 
scendent way, and not in ways that arithmetic and mortal 
experience can measure. I can surely give no account of 
the origin and growth of my trust, but this only, that the 
trust accompanies the incoming of that which is trusted. 
Blessed be that ! Happy am I when I am a trust ; un- 
happy and so far dead if it should ebb from me. If I, if 
all should deny it, there not the less would it be and pre- 
vail and create. 

We are poor, but it is rich : as every wave crests itself 
with foam, so this can incarnate itself everywhere with 
armies of ministers, inorganic, organic plant, brute, man, 
angel, to execute its will. What have we to do but to cry 
unto it All-Hail, Good Spirit ; it is enough for us that we 
take form for thy needs : Thou art in us ; Thou art us. 
Shall we not learn to look at our bodies with a religious 
joy, and empty every object of its meanness by seeing how 
it came to be ? 



The Friendly Craft 

But the same Goodness in which we believe, or rather 
which always believes on itself, as soon as we cease to con- 
sider duties, and consider persons, becomes Love, imperi- 
ous Love, that great Prophet and Poet, that Comforter, 
that Omnipotency in the heart. Its eye falls on some 
mortal form, but it rests not a moment there ; but, as every 
leaf represents to us all vegetable nature, so love looks 
through that spotted, blighted form to the vast spiritual 
element of which it was created and which it represents. 
We demand of those we love that they shall be excellent 
in countenance, in speech, in behavior, in power, in will. 
They are not so ; we are grieved, but we were in the right 
to ask it. If they do not share the Deity that dictated to 
our thought this immense wish, they will quickly pass 
away, but the demand will not die, but will go on accumu- 
lating as the supply accumulates, and the virtues of the 
soul in the remotest ages will only begin to fulfil the first 
craving of our poor heart. 

I count you happy that your soul suggests to you such 
affectionate and noble errands to other spirits as the wish 
to give them your happiness and your freedom. That the 
Good Heart, which is the heart of us all, may still enrich 
you with new and larger impulses of joy and power is the 
wish of your affectionate servant, 

R. Waldo Emerson 

James Freeman Clarke compresses his into four words 
(To Samuel May, Secretary of the class of '29, Harvard) 
Jamaica Plain, February 6, 1874 

DEAR SAM, — It is very good of you to speak of me 
as you do ; but I seem to myself to have been a very 
poor sort of a worker, and I can almost take to myself 
Wordsworth's lines, 

352 



The Constant Ideal 

" But he is weak, both man and boy, — 
Hath been an idler in the land, 
Contented if he can enjoy 
The things which others understand." 

The things I most wished to do, I have never done ; the 
things I have done best, I have only half done. I have 
lived " au jour lejour^"^ and merely tried to do the nearest 
duty. The first sermon I ever preached had for its text 
(it was preached in the school) what I meant for the 
motto of my life, " Whatever thy hand finds to do, do it 
with thy might." I have kept this ideal before me, though 
I have never fulfilled it, — whatever my hand found to do, 
the thing which lay at hand ; not what the heart desired, 
not what the ambition aspired to, not what the will chose, 
but what the hand found. I have always believed in 
Providence, and so have never desponded ; I have always 
trusted in the essential good-will of my fellow-men, and 
have not been deceived. This life I have held to be sweet, 
and the next life at least as good as this. Cheerfulness 
and contentment have kept me well, so far as I have kept 
well, both in body and mind. I have come nearer to 
God every year, finding in Him love which is always law, 
and law which is always love. My creed has grown 
shorter every year, until I now put it into four words, 
" From God, for man."" ... 

Some day, when I arn taken from you, in outward pres- 
ence, but not in heart, — for wherever in God's universe I 
may be, I shall think of our dear class still, — you will 
perhaps read to them this note, kept in your book till then, 
and so they will hear me once more speaking to them, and 
telling them to believe that we shall come together some- 
where in the vast beyond. 

Truly yours, 
James Freeman Clarke 
2A 353 



The Friendly Craft 

The passionate protest ^^:> -^^^ -^^r^y -^^r^y -^^^ 
(Celia Thaxter to Sophie Eichberg, Feb, 6, 1893) 

YOUR dear Utile note just came, and it makes 
my heart ache for you, and for myself, and all 
of us. It is so hard, my darling Sophie, so cruel hard, 
not to see him again here, nor with these eyes, in the old 
familiar places, in the old way. Oh, I feel it so deeply 
myself, so deeply and so sadly, and what must you feel ! 
I know it all, all the ache and sorrow of it. If death, that 
change we call death, meant the end of life, then indeed 
might despair settle upon us, but it is only change and 
separation for the time being ; desperately hard and sad, 
but not forever. Oh no, no, no I d. thousand times no ! 
At our longest, we stay here so little while, and then seek 
our dear ones in that selfsame road they have traveled : 
who shall doubt that we find them, with all their love for 
us, again ! . .. . 

The privilege of covenanting with God -^^ -^ib^ 

(To Jonathan Edwards) 

Princeton, Nov. 2, 1757 

HONOURED SIR, 
Your most affectionate, comforting letter, by my 
brother, was exceedingly refreshing ^to me, although I was 
somewhat damped that I should not see you until spring. 
But it is my comfort in this disappointment, as well as under 
all my afflictions, that God knows what is best for me and 
for his own glory. Perhaps I depended too much on the 
company and conversation of such a near, and dear, and 
affectionate father and guide. I cannot doubt but all is 
for the best, and I am satisfied that God should order the 
affair of your removal as shall be for his glory, whatever 

354 



All for the Best 

comes of me. Since I wrote my mother's letter, God has 
carried me through new trials, and given me new supports. 
My little son ^ has been sick with the slow fever ever since 
my brother left us, and has been brought to the brink of 
the grave. But I hope, in mercy, God is bringing him up 
again. I was enabled to resign the child (after a severe 
struggle with nature) with the greatest freedom. God 
showed me that the child was not my own, but his, and 
that he had a right to recall what he had lent whenever he 
thought fit ; and I had no reason to complain, or say God 
dealt hard with me. This silenced me. But how good is 
God! He hath not only kept me from complaining, but 
comforted me, by enabling me to offer up the child by 
faith. I think, if ever I acted faith, I saw the fulness there 
was in Christ for little infants, and his willingness to 
accept of such as were offered to him. " Suffer little chil- 
dren to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is 
the kingdom of God," were comforting words. God also 
showed me, in such a lively manner, the fulness that was 
in himself of all spiritual blessings, that I said, " Although 
all streams were cut off, yet, so long as my God lives, I 
have enough." He enabled me to say — "Although thou 
slay me, yet will I trust in thee." In this time of trial I 
was led to enter into a renewed and explicit covenant with 
God, in a more solemn manner than ever before, and 
with the greatest freedom and delight. After much self- 
examination and prayer, I did give up myself and chil- 
dren to God with my whole heart. Never, until now, 
had I a sense of the privilege we are allowed in covenant- 
ing with God! This act of my soul left my mind in a quiet 
and steady trust in God. A few days after this, one even- 
ing, in talking of the glorious state my dear departed 
[husband] must be in, my soul was carried out in such 
1 Aaron Burr, then about twenty months old. 

355 



The Friendly Craft 

longing desires after this glorious state, that I was forced 
to retire from the family to conceal my joy. When alone, 
I was so transported, and my soul carried out in such eager 
desires after perfection, and the full enjoyment of God, and 
to serve him uninterruptedly, that I think my nature would 
not have borne much more. I think I had that night a 
foretaste of Heaven. This frame continued, in some good 
degree, the whole night. I slept but little ; and when I 
did, my dreams were all of heavenly and divine things. 
Frequently since I have felt the same in kind, though not 
in degree. Thus a kind and gracious God has been with 
me in six troubles, and in seven. But, oh! sir, what cause 
of deep humiliation and abasement of soul have I, on 
account of remaining corruption which I see working, 
especially pride ! Oh, how many shapes does pride cloak 
itself in ! Satan is also busy shooting his darts ; but, 
blessed be God, those temptations of his that used to 
overthrow me, as yet, have not touched me. Oh to be 
delivered from the power of Satan as well as sin! I can- 
not help hoping the time is near. God is certainly fitting 
me for himself; and when I think it will be soon that I 
shall be called hence, the thought is transporting. 
Your dutiful and affectionate daughter, 

Esther Burr 



'^ Within the gate " '^::y ^;^ -^^^ ^^> -^Oy ^;^ 

(To Mr. and Mrs. James T. Fields) 

Monday Night [May, 1864] 

BELOVED ; When I see that I deserved nothing, and 
that my Father gave me the richest destiny for so 
many years of time to which eternity is to be added, I am 
struck dumb with an ecstacy of gratitude, and let go my 

356 



A Transporting Thought 

mortal hold with an awful submission, and without a mur- 
mur. I stand hushed into an ineffable peace which I can- 
not measure nor understand. It therefore must be that 
peace which " passeth all understanding." I feel that his 
joy is such as " the heart of man cannot conceive," and 
shall I not then rejoice, who loved him so far beyond my- 
self? If /did not at once share his beatitude, should I be 
one with him now in essential essence ? Ah, thanks be to 
God who gives me this proof — beyond all possible doubt 
— that we are not and never can be divided! 

If my faith bear this test, is it not " beyond the utmost 
scope and vision of calamity ! " Need I ever fear again any 
possible dispensation if I can stand serene when that pres- 
ence is reft from me which I believed I must instantly die 
to lose.f* Where, O God, is that supporting, inspiring, pro- 
tecting, entrancing presence which surrounded me with 
safety and supreme content? 

" It is with you, my child, saith the Lord, and seemeth 
only to be gone." " Yes, my Father, I know I have not 
lost it, because I still live." " I will be glad." " Thy will 
be done." From a child I have truly believed that God 
was all good and all wise, and felt assured that no event 
could shake my belief. To-day I know it. 

This is the whole. No more can be asked of God. 
There can be no death nor loss for me for evermore. I 
stand so far within the veil that the light from God's 
countenance can never be hidden from me for one moment 
of the eternal day, now nor then. God gave me the rose 
of time ; the blossom of the ages to call my own for twenty- 
five years of human life. 

God has satisfied wholly my insatiable heart with a 
perfect love that transcends my dreams. He has decreed 
this earthly life a mere court of '^ the house not made with 
hands, eternal in the heavens." Oh, yes, dear heavenly 



The Friendly Craft 

Father ! " I will be glad," that my darling has suddenly es- 
caped from the rude jars and hurts of this outer court, and 
when I was not aware that an angel gently drew him 
within the palace-door that turned on noiseless golden 
hinges, drew hini in, because he was weary. 

God gave to his beloved sleep. And then an awaking 
which will require no more restoring slumber. 

As the dew-drop holds the day, so my heart holds the 
presence of the glorified freed spirit. He was so beautiful 
here, that he will not need much change to become a 
"shining one" ! How easily I shall know him when my 
children have done with me, and perhaps the angel will 
draw me gently also within the palace-door, if I do not 
faint, but truly live, "Thy will be done." 

At that festival of life that we all celebrated last Monday, 
did not those myriad little white lily-bells ring in for him 
the eternal year of peace, as they clustered and hung 
around the majestic temple, in which he once lived with 
God? They rang out, too, that lordly incense that can 
come only from a lily, large or small. What lovely ivory 
sculpture round the edge. I saw it all, even at that breath- 
less moment, when I knew^ that all that was visible was 
about to be shut out from me for my future mortal Hfe. I 
saw all the beauty, and the tropical gorgeousness of odor 
that enriched the air from your peerless wreath steeped me 
in Paradise. We were the new Adam and the new Eve 
again, and walked in the garden in the cool of the day, 
and there was not yet death, only the voice of the Lord. 
But indeed it seems to me that now again there is no 
death. His life has swallowed it up. 

Do not fear for me " dark hours." I think there is 
nothing dark for me henceforth. I have to do only with 
the present, and the present is light and rest. Has not 
the everlasting 

358 



Hope and Joy for All 

" Morning spread 
Over me her rich surprise?" 

I have -no more to ask, but that I may be able to 
comfort all who mourn as I am comforted. If 1 could 
bear all sorrow I would be glad, because God has turned 
for me the silver lining ; and for me the darkest cloud has 
broken into ten thousand singing birds — as I saw in my 
dream that I told you. So in another dream, long ago, 
God showed me a gold thread passing through each mesh 
of a black pall that seemed to shut out the sun. I com- 
prehend all now, before I did not doubt. Now God says 
in soft thunders, — " Even so ! " 

Your faithful friend, 
Sophia Hawthorne 

A Christmas letter -^c^ -^ii^ ^;:^ -^^ ^^^ -^r^ 

(Lucy Larcom to John G. Whittier) 

627 Tremont Street, 
Boston, December 25, 1881 

MY DEAR FRIEND, — Alone in my room this 
evening, I feel just like writing a Christmas letter 
to you, and I follow the impulse. 

This day always brings back old times and old friends 
to memory, but never with sadness to me, because the one 
idea of the day is hope and joy for all souls, the possibili- 
ties of infinite help, unending progress. Whenever I enter 
deeply into the thought of Christ, whenever I feel Him 
the one Reality inseparable from my own being, then I 
feel that I have my friends safe, and that they are to be 
my friends forever. To me. He is the one Divine Friend 
in whom human friendships can alone be real and perma- 
nent, because He draws us into sympathy with what is best, 

359 



The Friendly Craft 

with what is eternal, the love of goodness, the consciousness 
of God in us and around us, and the solemn gladness of a 
human life into which God has entered, and where He still is. 

God with us still, the Spiritual Presence of One who is 
more real than any other person can be to us, through 
whom indeed we receive our personality, — this idea, so 
grand as at times to seem almost impossible, grows more 
definite and clear to me. It is the " So I am with you 
alway " of Christ. And with this idea, that of those 
whom we love unseen, our friends who have disappeared 
from sight, becomes more definite also. 

Sometimes I can say undoubtingly, " I know I shall find 
them again, where He is.*" But though the light flickers 
and dims sometimes, what if it does? There the light is, 
and every year a larger space is redeemed from darkness. 

Oh, my dear friend ! life is a gift blessed as it is awful. 
To think how close we are to one another for good or evil, 
do what we will ! We cannot be apart from our fellow- 
beings ; the pulses of this life we have in common throb, 
upward or downward, through us forever. Death is not to 
me half so solemn as life : but then death is no reality — a 
circumstance of our external life only. . . . 

The "sole ground of hope'' ^c:y ^;:> '<o <::> 

(John G. Whittier to Harriet M. Pitman) 

AM greatly pained to hear of the illness of our 
old friend Garrison. For how many years he 
has been an important part of our world I Much of my 
own life was shaped by him. It is very sad to think I 
shall see him no more. The next mail may bring tidings 
of his death. I have been thinking over my life, and the 
survey has not been encouraging. Alas ! if I have been a 
servant at all I have been an unprofitable one, and yet I 

360 



I 



Holy and Pure Ideals 

have loved goodness, and longed to bring my imaginative 
poetic temperament into true subjection. I stand ashamed 
and almost despairing before holy and pure ideals. As I 
read the New Testament I feel how weak, irresolute, and 
frail I am, and how little I can rely on anything save our 
God's mercy and infinite compassion, which I reverently 
and thankfully own have followed me through life, and the 
assurance of which is my sole ground of hope for myself, 
and for those I love and pray for. . . . 



361 



LIST OF LETTER WRITERS 



Adams, Abigail (Mrs. John), 13, 219, 

250, 265, 268. 
Adams, John, 11, 12, 115, 268, 269. 
*' Agnes," 293, 296. 
Alcott, Louisa May, 32, 35, 38. 
Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, 55, 202, 207, 

209, 212, 346. 
Appleton, Thomas Gold, 65, 66, 170. 
Bancroft, George, loi, 179, 180, 306, 

309- 
Beecher, Lyman, 107. 
Beecher, Thomas K., 320. 
Blaine, Harriet Stanwood (Mrs. 

James G.), 302, 
Blaine, James G., 316. 
Brace, Charles Loring, 118. 
Bradford, William, 258. 
Bridgman, Laura, 80. 
Briggs, Caroline C, 156, 333. 
Brooks, Phillips, 84. 
Burr, Aaron, 71, 73, 74, 138, 139, 274, 

275, 312, 323. 
Burr, Esther Edwards (Mrs. Aaron, 

Sr.),3S4- 
Channing, William Ellery, 79, 326, 

343- 
Child, Lydia Maria, 333. 
Choate, Rufus, i, 76, 200, 320. 
Clarke, James Freeman, 352. 
Curtis, George William, 21, 24, 300. 
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 67, 158, 162, 

189, 338, 340, 348, 351. 
Fithian, Philip, 89, 92. 
Fowler, David, 317, 319. 
Franklin, Benjamin, 6, 273, 313, 316, 

325, 350- 
Franklin, Deborah (Mrs. Benjamin), 

78. 
Fuller, Margaret, see Ossoli. 
Gibbons, Abby Hopper (Mrs. James), 



Gibson, William Hamilton, 62, 63, 64. 
Godkin, Edwin Lawrence, 250, 310, 

331- 
Grant, Ulysses, 96. 
Greeley, Horace, 290. 
Grimke, Sarah, 14. 
Hamilton, Alexander, 313. 
Hancock, John, i, 8, 114. 
Harte, Bret, 213, 247, 249. 
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 18, 116, 

117. 
Hav/thorne, Sophia Peabody (Mrs. 

Nathaniel), 19, 21, 356. 
Holley, Sallie, 227, 228, 287. 
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 130, 222, 

325, 343. 
Howe, Samuel Gridley, 81. 
Irving, Washington, 2, 54, 140, 142, 

148, 166, 168, 187, 254, 305, 317. 
Jackson, Andrew, 314. 
Jackson, Rachel (Mrs. Andrew), 277, 

281. 
James, Henry, Sr., 152. 
Jefferson, Thomas, 69, 71, 325, 336. 
Lanier, Sidney, 119, 216. 
Larcom, Lucy, 51, 58, 359. 
Lee, Robert E., 288, 289, 301^ 311. 
Leland, Charles Godfrey, 211, 255, 

303, 334, 347. 
Lincoln, Abraham, 292, 296. 
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 122, 

128, 150, 184, 198. 
Longfellow, Mary Potter (Mrs. 

Henry W.), 158. 
Longfellow, Stephen, 186. 
Lowell, James Russell, 30, 79, 124, 

127, 129, 149, 155, 188, 204, 341. 
Lucas, Eliza, see Pinckney. 
Madison, Dolly (Mrs. James), 275. 
Mather, Increase, 86. 
Morris, Gouverneur, 221. 



363 



The Friendly Craft 



Motley, John Lothrop, 172, 182. 

Ossoli, Margaret Fuller, 67, 160, 177, 
194, 196. 

Parker, Theodore, 103, 233, 332, 

Parkman, Francis, 94, 226. 

Pinckney, Eliza Lucas (Mrs. 
Charles), 3, 5, 131. 

Prescott, William Hickling, 93, 118, 
241, 243, 245. 

Sedgwick, Catharine M., i, 2, 199, 
256. 

Sewall, Jonathan W., 270. 

Sewall, Samuel, 2, 112, 113, 260. 

Smith, Margaret Bayard (Mrs. Sam- 
uel Harrison), 145, 283. 

Southgate, Eliza, 75, 119, 134. 

Sparks, Jared, 311. 

Story, William Wetmore, 125, 169, 
196, 201. 

Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 40, 41, 47. 

Sumner, Charles, 123, 164, 236. 

Swann, Thomas, 314. 



Taylor, Bayard, 173. 

Thaxter, Celia, 252, 346, 354. 

Thoreau, Henry D., 26, 150, 224, 
229, 328. 

Ticknor, George, 99. 

Warner, Charles Dudley, 204, 206. 

Warren, James, 261, 263. 

Warren, Mercy (Mrs. James), 266 

Washington, George, i, 7, 10, 113 
272, 322. 

Webster, Daniel, 104, 106, 324. 

Webster, Edward, 105. 

Weld, Angelina Grimke (Mrs. Theo- 
dore), 16. 

Whittier, John Greenleaf, 156, 201, 
210, 360. 

Williams, Roger, no. 

Willis, Nathaniel Parker, 192. 

Winthrop, John, 109, no, 216, 257. 

Winthrop, Margaret (Mrs. John), 
108. 



364 



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Extra croivn, 8vo, price $i,J0 net ; by mailt $1.62 

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byways of literature Mr. Dobson is as much at home as a 
native, and in his researches into the times of Mme. d' Ar- 
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he has happened on many a forgotten treasure, preserved 
in an eddy of the moving stream of books and men, from 
which he has drawn the material for such papers as these 
— rich in entertainment, instinct with a most individual 
personality. 



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